


Some Wounds Were Never Meant to Be Healed

by vulcanhighblood



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Wade, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, Heats and Ruts, M/M, Omega Peter, Secret Identity, Spideypool - Freeform, what we have here is a failure to communicate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2018-09-25 23:16:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 36,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9851231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcanhighblood/pseuds/vulcanhighblood
Summary: Peter Parker didn't ask to be an Omega, never expected to be living a double life as a crime fighter clad in spandex, and certainly hadn't counted on his healing factor interfering with his heat-suppressant drugs. Now he's being hounded by an Alpha who has made it no secret in the past that he wants to jump Spidey's bones, and Peter's heat is only just beginning...





	1. First Signs of Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> This... was meant to be a oneshot. I started writing it the day after a Valentine's Day ABO binge. Prompt credit goes to [this lovely post](http://rockinrpmemes.tumblr.com/post/119136379661/abo-starters-send-one-for-my-muses-reaction).
> 
> The prompt was: "Can a body grow immune to suppressants?"

Peter knew he was in trouble when MJ started sniffing the air, a look of confusion crossing her features. She turned to Peter with a small frown. “Hey tiger,” she said, falling back on her old nickname for him, “You're not… you know? I mean, you're on suppressants?”

Peter felt his blood run cold. He was a _scientist_ , or at least studying to become a scientist. He knew how to keep track of something as simple as a heat cycle. After all, he was in his second year of college and he’d been tracking his heats since they started at age 14, so he had his predictions down almost to the _hour_. He’d been on suppressants since yesterday, just to be safe, but he’d woken that morning with that weird, itchy discomfort crawling under his skin, flushed with an almost feverish sensation that only grew stronger as the day progressed. He shouldn't have been feeling _anything_ , if the suppressants were doing their goddamn job.

He poked at his Kung Pao chicken awkwardly with his chopsticks, stirring it around without actually eating any. “I...started my dose yesterday,” he admitted weakly, unable to look his childhood friend in the eye.

MJ sniffed the air again, her eyebrows furrowing down towards her delicate nose. “Weird,” she commented. “I thought it might be you, ‘cause, it smells like you.”

Peter stared at her. “How the _hell_ could you possibly tell with all the grease permeating the air in here?” he swept his arm out, indicating the small hole-in-the-wall restaurant where they’d met to grab a late lunch. “I’m going to need a shower just to get rid of the smell of sweet and sour pork.”

MJ shrugged awkwardly, but her sharp gaze bored into Peter. “It’s not super obvious,” she said, “Just… obvious _enough_ for me to pick out. As for knowing _your_ scent, well, there was that one time back in high school…”

Peter grimaced. “The time that Flash-?”

“Flash flushed your suppressants, yeah,” MJ clarified, “and you lied to your Aunt because money was tight.”

“She's a beta,” Peter protested, “it wasn't going to bother her any. Besides, what she didn't know--”

“Made her think her nephew was a sex fiend,” MJ interrupted with a twinkle in her eye. “At least she didn't have to worry about her nerd of a nephew getting laid.” she winked.

Peter covered his face. “Oh my god.”

“Don't worry about it, Pete, Gwen was more than happy to share me for an evening or five,” MJ laughed, her eyes sparkling. “What are friends for?”

And that, that was what had killed Peter in High School, knowing that MJ was never going to see him as more than a friend, and yet she was the only Alpha who’d ever shown even an ounce of interest in him. Well. That wasn't exactly true, his first heat had been frankly _terrifying_ , Aunt May hadn't had the instincts to smell him, but when an older alpha neighbor had tried to follow Peter to school, she’d realized something was wrong, calling him in sick and rushing him to the hospital pretty quickly.

He’d barely had time to walk through the door before a nurse verified what May had suspected. Peter was quickly tugged aside and given emergency suppressants. The doctor couldn't believe it had been his first heat, going so far as to say that most omegas didn't reach his level of pheromone production until their prime.

Aside from the fiasco in Senior Year, when he’d taken a week off and MJ had fucked him brainless every day as soon as school let out, he’d never gone into heat without his suppressants. They never quite _stopped_ the heat, but they helped him stay coherent, drastically reduced his pheromone and slick production, and prevented fertility. They made him feel...normal. Being in heat without suppressants had been a terrifying experience. He had only blurry memories of desperation, of frantically taking himself in hand, and when that wasn't enough, spearing himself on his own fingers, on a flashlight, anything he could get his hands on, waiting until MJ got there with her strap-on to help him feel _normal_ for a few hours before the itch under his skin would once again begin to boil and burn, _need_ pouring off him like the slick that dripped from his wide, weeping entrance.

When he’d become Spider-Man, he’d built pheromone suppression systems into the suit to disguise his scent. If someone got too close they might think he smelled something like an Alpha, and if they stayed back he would more likely be mistaken for a Beta. If the system wasn't essential to protecting his identity, he might have considered patenting the design, but he couldn't risk people knowing the technology of such extreme pheromone concealment actually existed, or someone might find a way _around_ it. No one could know that your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was actually an Omega.

For the five years following that spider bite at the tender age of 16, his heats had been gradually worsening. At first Peter had chalked it up to nearing his prime, and therefore needing stronger drugs to fully take care of the issue. He’d started noticing a serious problem during his last heat, three months ago, when Alphas had started following him around his college campus.

Mild-mannered Peter Parker couldn't hope to fight them off, and he _needed_ to protect his secret identity, which meant he wouldn't _let_ himself fight them off. It was a promise to himself that he’d nearly broken when one of the Alpha's seemed to be following him home. He’d lost the strange Alpha eventually, but Peter started running tests the next day in the lab where he was interning at Stark Industries. What he’d found was concerning - his healing factor seemed to be growing steadily stronger, identifying substances that altered his body chemistry and rendering them inert. He’d only just gotten old enough to drink, and now it looked like he would never be able to get more than barely tipsy. Pain killers seemed to be losing effect, not even caffeine could escape the clutches of his mutant healing factor. And then, there was the not insignificant matter of the greatly reduced efficacy of his suppressants. It appeared that the more regularly he used a substance, the more quickly his healing factor seemed determined to flush it from his system. He was already taking double doses of his suppressants every six hours instead of the recommended “once daily” dose he’d been prescribed, and that had been the “highest possible dose” his doctor could safely prescribe to him.

And now MJ could smell him, a mere three hours after his last dose.

“Peter? Hello?” MJ snapped her fingers in Peter’s face, trying to get his attention. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Peter lied, digging into his bag, trying not to sound as frantic as he felt, only marginally succeeding in that area. “Just forgot to take my meds,” he lied ineloquently, prompting a concerned look from MJ.

“Peter, you _never_ forget your meds,” she said, watching as Peter popped two pills and swallowed them, washing them down with a swig of oolong tea from his cup. “What’s really going on?”

Peter shrugged. “I wish I knew,” he said weakly.

“Have you gone to the doctor?” MJ insisted.

“Can't afford the tests he’ll undoubtedly order, much less the copay,” Peter answered wearily. “I can barely afford the drugs,” he said, “...for all the good they seem to be doing,” he added, not bothering to disguise the disgust in his tone.

MJ gave him a pitying look. Peter hated that look. He’d endured it all through high school. He’d mistakenly thought that his accomplishments since that time - a full ride scholarship to the Technology Institute of his choice, testing into advanced classes, getting a fourth-year internship at Stark industries in his second year - might overshadow his pathetic past. He should have known an Alpha like MJ would never see him as anything more than her poor Omega friend that she saved from himself in his time of dire need.

She didn't _mean_ to look down on him, it was just something Alphas _did_ , it was wired into them. They were socialized from day one to see Omegas as weak, inferior, desperate, needy creatures who wanted nothing more than a big, strong Alpha to come along and knot them and bond with them and let them be the cute, domestic, fragile little flowers they were born to be.

Peter didn't want that. He wanted to be strong, brave, powerful, resourceful… he wanted to be an Alpha, dammit! Instead he was trapped in a weak, inferior body that was slowly betraying him and leaving him at the mercies of his basest instincts.

MJ sniffed again. “That must have been it,” she said, “the smell is receding.”

Peter nodded. He had to get home before three hours were up now, he’d only brought a six hour dose as he’d anticipated getting an additional three hours before he’d even need the next dose.

MJ finished the last of her Mapo Tofu and glanced at Peter’s nearly untouched plate. “You gonna eat that?”

Peter shook his head. “Not hungry,” he said, too angry with himself and his traitorous body to even swallow the food, much less enjoy it.

MJ shrugged, still looking worried. She checked her phone, noting the time. “Shouldn't you be heading out to Stark’s pretty soon?” she asked Peter, who glanced at his watch. He grimaced, thinking of how much time it would take to drop back by his apartment on the way to Stark labs. He should have left five minutes ago, which meant he was going to be late to work again. Fabulous.

He dug into his wallet, tossing fifteen dollars on the table to cover his half of the bill plus a 20% tip, rounding up to the nearest dollar for convenience’s sake. “I gotta get going,” he said. “Thanks for lunch, MJ, it was good to catch up.”

“Anytime, tiger,” MJ answered with an easy smile that made Peter’s heart do flip-flops, even after all this time. “And hey, don't be a stranger, okay? I know Stark probably runs his interns into the ground, but I’m sure he can spare you for an hour or two every other week or so.”

Peter smiled weakly, “I'll see what I can do,” he promised, though he was pretty certain his schedule wouldn't permit for much more spare time unless he started sacrificing _even more_ sleep. He slung his backpack over one shoulder and headed out, peeling off his outer clothes once he found a suitably secluded spot, webbing his backpack to his back and taking off for his apartment. If he wanted any chance of making it to Stark Tower on time he was going to need to take the most expedient route.

At least, he’d _thought_ it would be the most expedient. Right up until he heard a booming voice from behind bellowing his name.

“Oh Spidey~!” This was followed by a wolf whistle, then another shout. “Oh my _god_ has there ever been a more _perfect ass_ in all of human existence?”

Peter groaned internally, knowing from experience that Deadpool wasn't going to stop following him until he stopped and talked, even if it was just for a few brief seconds. The last thing he wanted was for the merc with a mouth to follow him home when he was like this. He landed lightly on the roof of the nearest building, folding his arms.

Deadpool leaped onto the roof with a loud whoop, tucking and rolling as he hit the ground, springing to his feet and crowing “Ta-da!” as if he were one of the Flying Graysons and the roof was his own personal Big Top.

Peter sighed. “What do you want, Deadpool?” he demanded.

“I just wanted a look at that sweet, sweet package,” Deadpool answered, making a frame with his fingers like he were a cameraman, “and dat bootyliscious spandex-bound backside,” he finished, spinning a finger in the air to imply that Peter should turn around.

Peter did not comply, folding his arms more tightly across his chest. Of all the days to be harassed by an Alpha’s Alpha…

Deadpool - or Wade, as he’d asked Peter to call him more than a few times - was one of those Alphas that had even other Alphas under his thumb. He was big, loud, and when he put his mind to it, could unleash a towering presence that sent even the most powerful Alphas in his vicinity scurrying for cover. Of course, for someone like Peter, who had spent _years_ fighting his Omega instincts just to look like a Beta, Deadpool’s presence was more than a little off-putting. Even on his best days the hyper-masculine, overwhelming scent of Deadpool’s natural musk had Peter’s brain scrambling to remain coherent and not defer to the red-spandex-clad merc’s every wish, to keep his wits about him so he didn't fall down and submit to Deadpool’s every whim. This was especially important to Peter since, judging from the way Deadpool hit on him at literally every opportunity, the man was _very_ interested in Peter’s body.

Peter didn't want to see himself cowed before any Alpha, but especially not a crass, hyper-masculine, lecherous killer. He couldn't deny that Wade was built like a prime Alpha, and maybe it was that attraction that _could have been_ , simmering right beneath the surface, that pissed off Peter so much. How was he supposed to act like an Alpha, or even a Beta, when half of his mind was always noticing things like the cut of Wade’s abs, his muscled thighs and broad shoulders, the way his muscles glided beneath his skintight suit…

Deadpool stalked towards Peter like a hunter, and Peter had to remind himself that even if he could smell Wade (and boy could he ever smell Wade _today_ ), there was still no chance that Wade could smell him, thanks to the suit.

Wade wiggled his fingers in an innocent wave as Peter turned to track his movements. “Hi~!” he said with false sweetness before clasping his hands together. “Please? Can I see you shake your booty for me? Pretty please?” He turned his head slightly, away from Peter, into empty air. “Yes I _know_ I could get him to do it _that_ way, the point is I want him to do it _without_ the threat of violence!” He turned back to Peter. “Stolen glances are more romantic when they're not literally stolen, especially at gunpoint,” he explained, as if this would make any sense at all to the Webbed Wonder.

“Deadpool,” Peter said, a warning in his tone. Over the years they’d developed something akin to friendship - or at least camaraderie - but he and Deadpool still had very different ideas about what was and wasn't 'appropriate’ behavior between friends-slash-occasional-partners-in-crime-fighting. “I’m busy. I'm also not in the mood to remind you of how little I enjoy your come-ons.”

Wade sniffed delicately as he stepped closer. “Ohhh,” he said knowingly, a hint of disappointment in his tone. “I take it you've got an Omega to, uh, get home to?”

Peter sputtered incoherently for several seconds. “What makes you say _that?_ ” he demanded. Never mind that it was intensely personal question, why would the red-spandex-clad merc even _ask_ such a thing?

Wade tilted his head a little. “You even gotta _ask,_ baby boy? That Omega smell is all over you. Not as strong as your usual scent but…”

Deadpool pushed his face right up into Spider-Man’s, inhaling deeply. “Oh god,” he said almost dreamily. “I mean, I knew with an ass like that you could get anyone you damn well wanted, but honestly Spidey,” He _clapped a hand_ to Peter’s _ass,_ giving it a quick squeeze, “You’ve got moves!” he inhaled deeply, a low growl humming in his throat. “Introduce me?”

Peter found his legs again, leaping away from Deadpool like he’d been burned by the merc’s touch. “I like to keep my personal life private, Deadpool.” Part of him was distracted by how easily the older man’s hand had cupped his… Peter shook his head, trying to clear it.

“It’s Wade, and don't worry, my heart still belongs to you,” Deadpool cooed, making a heart shape with his hands and blowing a kiss in Peter’s direction.

Peter dodged the blown kiss irritatedly. “Deadpool. How many times do I have to tell you? Don't fucking _touch me_ without getting my permission! Why is that so difficult for you to understand?” Peter snapped, before something else caught his attention. His heart, beating faster. Wade’s own aroma, filling his nostrils. It was a heady, almost dizzying scent and he could feel something wet beginning to ooze from his entrance, his body already responding to Deadpool's ass-grab from moments earlier. Angrily, Peter found himself wondering what good suppressants or a suit with pheromone blockers even did, since apparently they weren't enough to fool Deadpool? At least the merc had assumed the Omega scent belonged to someone else, not Peter. It was a small comfort, especially as Deadpool continued to sniff the air curiously.

“My bad Spidey, I think your Omega’s scent is getting to me,” Wade apologized - that was a first for him, as far as Peter could remember. “I’m getting a bit, ehrm, too excited…”

Peter noticed the bulge in Deadpool’s spandex suit, and for a moment he panicked: was he getting “excited” too?

Fortunately for everyone involved, it didn't appear so. Or at least it wasn't readily obvious. He folded his arms again, feeling another spurt of slick ooze between his legs. Well. Maybe he was excited after all. Playing along, Peter turned away from Deadpool. “Now that you know why I’m in a hurry…” Peter said pointedly, moving towards the edge of the building.

Deadpool raised a hand in farewell. “Yeah yeah, get going to your domestic bliss,” he waved a little, before adding cheekily, “say hello to the missus for me!”

Peter shook his head, ignoring that as he swung almost blindly in the direction of his apartment, slick coating the backs and insides of his thighs. He needed another dose of suppressants _now._


	2. Things Get Worse. They Can Always Get Worse.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is a hot mess.

Wade watched Spidey go, sighing in relief as the mind-blowing scent of a fertile Omega in heat went with him. “Holy fuck,” he commented, not addressing anyone in particular, “Spidey got game!” Wade had to sit down, his body still trying to go into overdrive over the smell of Spidey’s mate.  He braced his elbows on his knees and breathed deeply.

 **_My god I’m not sure if this makes us pathetic or a playa,_ ** White commented. **_You are not_ ** **seriously** **_getting weak-kneed over another guy’s mate._ **

**I think he is,** Yellow piped up. **I know I am, anyway.**

 **_Oh my god you two are pathetic,_ ** White decided.

Ignoring the boxes, Wade sniffed delicately, the scent of Omega heat _still_ wafting through the air. It was strange though, Wade thought. With all that Omega smell on him, shouldn't Spidey have been in a rut? Hell, Wade had only gotten a second-hand whiff of the Omega and he was barely _inches_ from the edge. Not that he ever had any chance of getting _over_ that edge, but still... Wade frowned. Was Spider-Man actually a Beta? He _smelled_ like an Alpha, if you got close enough, but maybe that was just a bit of artificial pheromone work. He supposed it might be harder to earn respect as a Beta hero. Plus it would explain why the scent of that Omega hadn't driven him wild yet. Fuck, it was practically driving _him_ wild, and he hadn't been that close to losing control since… how long had it been?

 **_Your last serious thing with an Omega was from a time before Francis and his cronies turned your face and body into night of the living hamburger,_ ** White commented dryly. **_Trust us when we tell you that no one is interested in tapping an ass that looks like it's fresh from the set of Zombieland._ **

“I never doubted that,” Wade said vaguely, still studying his hand. There was something about his hand that he felt he’d forgotten. Something important.

 **Cable fucked us,** Yellow argued with White. **It was** **_hot_ ** **. Also rough. An all-around half decent experience, considering.**

 **_Considering what?_ ** White shot back. **_Considering he was an Alpha on a power trip and we enabled that shit? Classy move, that._ **

Wade sniffed his glove, ignoring the boxes as they continued to bicker. He inhaled again, breathing in deeper. His hand _still_ smelled of Spidey's Omega, a scent he’d probably picked up when he’d...

Wade’s mind ground to a halt, and he stared at his hand for nearly a minute before a squeal of excitement bubbled past his lips. He’d _grabbed Spidey’s ass!_ This was a beautiful day! He’d actually gotten the chance to _touch_ it, _without_ them being tied together or some other nonsense! He was _never_ washing this hand again.

 **_Oh my god you're pathetic. Have you forgotten that you_ ** **just** **_learned that Spider-Man has a mate?_ ** White grumbled, dropping the argument with Yellow. **_Doesn't that dampen your mood in the slightest?_ **

Wade shrugged, “We both know all that flirting was never gonna go anywhere. This changes nothing.” he stared at his hand. “Except that _I touched Spidey’s ass!_ ” he added in a fangirlish shriek.

 **Ooh!  Maybe you could meet that lovely Omega of his** , Yellow added.

 **_And do what? Blindfold them so they don’t scream at the sight of our fucking ugly monster cock? Knot them in front of Spidey because he’s a Beta and you have a giant Alpha dong?_ ** White demanded exasperatedly. **_What is the endgame here? Stop thinking with your dick, you dick._ **

**I like it when we think with our dick.** Yellow whined.

Wade licked his lips, doing his best to ignore the boxes. Fuck, he hadn't knotted in _ages_. Even White’s facetious suggestion of blindfolding and stealing Spidey’s Omega was starting to sound like a good idea. “I think I might need to visit a lady or gentleman of the night to take care of this,” he commented, indicating the tent in his spandex. “It’s not going to go away, the way you two are carrying on.”

 **_My condolences to whoever ends up having to deal with your ugly mug._ ** White said.

 **Even prostitutes should have the right to refuse service to someone as ugly as you,** Yellow agreed.

Wade groaned. “Maybe I'll just try and work it off at home,” he decided.

 **_That might be for the best_ ** , White told him condescendingly. **_You're learning!_ **

Wade dragged himself to his feet, wincing at how the spandex suit pulled tight against his straining cock. Wade hissed a string of mostly-incoherent expletives through clenched teeth, then headed out to his apartment, the phantom scent of Spidey’s Omega _still_ clouding his mind with dirty, dirty visions.

Wade groaned loudly. It was going to be a long fucking day.

* * *

Peter had to take off his suit and swap it out by the time he got home. He ended up padding his undergarments with toilet paper before pulling on the new suit. He was practically _dripping_ , his pants were soaked, his life was a _mess_ . What he _wanted_ to do was sit down and cry. What he _did_ was grab what was left of his suppressants - a year-long scrip he’d filled _last week_ since the previous heat had wiped out his old supply - and pop two more pills on his way out. It didn't seem to be doing much good, he couldn't even tell if the slick was slowing down (it hadn't stopped yet, unfortunately) because of the drugs or because he’d gotten enough time and distance between himself and the merc with a mouth.

He was going to be so late to work, he’d be surprised if he didn't get ( _another_ ) reprimand. All his book smarts and he couldn't seem to manage something as simple as watching the damn clock. He took off for Stark Tower - or Avengers Tower, he guessed it was also called now, though of course he’d never gotten access to that area of the building, in the suit or out of it.

He slung his way across town and pulled his clothes back on before running up to Stark Tower and swiping his card as he scooted past the security desk, greeting the guards with a breathless “Hey Daniel, Kurt,” as he rushed by. Daniel grunted in response, gaze fixed on the security monitors. Kurt grinned and waved, calling after Peter, “You might want to hurry, word has it Stark’ll be making a surprise inspection today!”

Peter tossed a quick “Thanks for the heads up!” over his shoulder. He wasn't expecting to hear anything more from either officer, which is why he was surprised to hear Kurt call “Hey Danny, where are you going?” a moment later.

Then, “Daniel! Officer Kim! What the hell?”

Peter glanced over his shoulder and felt his heart stutter to a stop as he realized that Daniel - Officer Kim - was _following him._ Not at a fast pace, necessarily, but he was definitely fixated on _Peter_.

Peter could feel his skin tingling, could practically _taste_ the air, the scent of raw _need_ that was coming off Daniel, even from this distance. The sensation of his slick, still pulsing from his entrance, was magnified tenfold by his sudden self-awareness. His heart began to pound, his breath coming in tiny gasps as he realized - the suppressants _weren't working anymore_. At all.

He’d estimated that he would have at _least_ one more heat cycle to formulate an alternative to his current meds, but apparently his healing factor’s tolerance had accelerated. And now Daniel, an Alpha, was coming for him, like their neighbor had so many years ago, and Peter was just as helpless to stop the Alpha now as he had been at fourteen years of age.

Kurt ran up behind Daniel, grabbing his arm. “What is _wrong_ with you?” he demanded. “That’s Peter! The intern! Hello?”

Daniel growled, trying to shake off his fellow security officer, but Kurt was having none of it, tapping his radio. “Yeah this is Officer Singh, We have a situation on Level One, Officer Kim appears to have been compromised by an unknown agent, possibly airborne or contact-transmitted.”

Peter slowed to a stop, shaking so hard he could barely get the words out. “Uh, Kurt? I think I know what the problem is,” he said weakly, turning around to face the security officer.

Kurt, who had Daniel’s arms pinned to try and hold him back, grunted as the other security guard tugged violently in his grasp. “Yeah?” he choked out, craning his neck to get a look at Peter. “What's that?”

“I’m in heat,” Peter said, hating the way his voice cracked miserably. Could he _be_ more pathetic?

Kurt's eyes widened and his grip loosened for a second. Daniel almost pulled away before Kurt got his grip back. “Holy hell, Parker!” he exclaimed, putting Daniel in a choke hold. “What sort of heat does _this_?”

Peter shook his head frantically. “I don't… I don't know,” he said, thinking fast, trying to figure out how to excuse this horrible breach of protocol (one didn't just go out in public with an unsuppressed heat - it was not only rude, but also _dangerous_!) without using the words ‘healing factor’ or ‘tolerance’. “I developed an allergy, my doctor _just_ took me off the pill today, I didn't think…”

Kurt grunted as Daniel elbowed him in the gut. To his credit, he didn't let go of the Alpha. “I think you should go home, Parker,” he gasped out. “Now.”

Peter bobbed his head rapidly, edging towards the duo, who were standing between him and the door.

Kurt made a noise, twisting Daniel’s arm harder. “ _Not_ this way,” he snapped harshly. “Take the elevator to the basement, go out that way.”

Peter nodded, backing down the hallway.

“Jarvis!” Kurt yelled, “Make sure no Alphas get between Peter and the exit!”

“ _Understood_ ,” Stark’s A.I. answered. “ _Mister Parker, if you would be so kind as to proceed to the elevators._ ”

“Okay Jarvis,” Peter said, sounding every bit as shaken by the experience as he felt. “Thank you, Kurt. And tell Daniel I’m sorry.”

“Tell him yourself once you get this whole heat thing sorted out,” Kurt called back. “See you soon, kid!”

Peter wasn't sure he _would_ be seeing anyone at Stark Industries anytime soon. At least not until his heat was over. He nodded anyway, then jogged to the elevators.

“ _Please wait approximately fifteen seconds, then press the call button for the elevator,”_ Jarvis instructed.

Peter counted to 15, then pressed the button. He climbed into the elevator, and pressed the basement level button. The elevator stopped, but the doors didn't open. He started to feel like the walls were closing in. “Uh… Jarvis?”

“ _One moment, Mister Parker. I am clearing the premises.”_

A few beats passed, and then the doors opened, revealing a limousine, sitting idling by the doors. Peter glanced at it nervously. “Jarvis? I thought you were clearing the area?”

“ _Sir has provided you with a ride. The driver is an Omega like yourself, do not be alarmed._ ”

 _I sincerely doubt there’s any omega ‘like myself’ out there,_ Peter thought bitterly. “Thank you, Jarvis. And thank Mister Stark for me, too, will you?” was all he said aloud.

The limousine door popped open, and Peter crawled inside. He knocked on the partition between him and the driver, who opened it. “Yes?” the driver asked warily.

“Do you need my address?” Peter asked.

“I was provided with an address by Jarvis,” the driver replied, blue eyes flicking up to the rear view mirror to make eye contact with Peter. His name card read ‘Conrad Hauser’.

“All right, well, thank you Conrad. I really appreciate this.”

The blonde man smiled easily into the mirror, not breaking eye contact. “Call me Duke,” he said, “And it’s my pleasure.”

Peter settled down in the limousine. Well. As much as he _could_ settle down in the whale of a motor vehicle. He stared at the only vaguely familiar scenery whizzing by and tried to figure out what he would do once he was home. Call Aunt May? The doctor? How would he ever explain that the suppressants had just _stopped working_?

Things were going to get a lot worse than than the problem of his scent drawing Alphas to him - in less than 24 hours he was going to be a senseless, gibbering mess, desperate for an Alpha’s knot and willing to throw himself at anyone who would have him. He would lock himself in his room for the time being, but… he’d never gone through a heat without suppressants. Or an Alpha.

For a moment, Peter considered calling MJ. But no - she had a mate now, she was happy, he couldn't ask her to jeopardize the happiness and security of herself or her mate just because he had the world's worst luck. Who else, then?

 _Deadpool_ , the thought floated through his mind, and Peter shot it down instantly. No one could _ever_ know that Spider-Man was an Omega. _Especially_ not the loudest mouth in New York. There was no telling how far his secret would be spread! He had to think of someone else. Harry? He was at least single, but… something had changed between them since high school. Harry had never been particularly bright or self-motivated. Peter worried that his friend resented him for getting into a prestigious school while he was stuck attending a local community college and only just managing to pass his classes.

They were still _friends_ , but somewhere along the way those ties had weakened, and Peter didn't like to think about what Harry might do if he had power over him - the kind of power an Alpha _always_ had over his Omega.

The limousine rolled to a stop, and Conrad - Duke - glanced back at Peter. “This is your stop,” he said.

It wasn't his apartment. It was a fertility clinic. A really fancy fertility clinic. On the complete _opposite_ side of town from his apartment. Peter felt something inside him wither and die. “Jarvis gave you _this_ address?” he asked weakly.

Duke shrugged apologetically. “Mister Stark probably wanted you to see about getting a different kind of suppressant.”  He made a face. “I mean, Alphas generally mean well…”

There was no need for him to say more. Alphas knew very little about Omegas, and even less about the reproductive services to which Omegas needed access. One thing that Stark had either never learned, or had conveniently forgotten, was that there was only one suppressant with a low risk to the Omega that came with a relatively high success rate. Any other suppressant he could conceivably be prescribed would be an older, more dangerous drug. But it was a moot point anyway, since all heat-blockers currently on the market were related compounds, and if he’d become tolerant - or “allergic” - to one of them, he was very likely tolerant (“allergic”) to all of them.

Peter smiled wryly at Duke. “You're just doing your job,” he told the driver. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Take care of yourself, Parker,” Duke said fondly. “Hopefully we’ll meet again, under less traumatic circumstances.”

Peter laughed self-deprecatingly. “I sure hope so,” he said.

The limousine door popped open, and Peter trudged up the steps to the clinic, turning to wave at Duke until the driver pulled away. Then he quickly bounded back down the steps, peeling off his outer clothes and pulling on his mask and gloves. He was _not_ going to risk walking home like this, and even if the doctor _could_ find a suppressant for him, how would he explain when he became tolerant to _that_ too? More than likely the doctor would tell him what Peter already knew - he needed to find an Alpha to get him through this heat, or suffer until it was over.

He webbed his backpack to himself and scaled the wall. He pulled himself up to the roof, glancing around a bit to get his bearings. He spotted a cluster of buildings in the distance, knew that his apartment was due west of them. He primed his web shooters, and leaped from the building, swinging his way towards the city center and, hopefully, his apartment.

Peter was _this close_ to getting home scott-free when he heard a shout from behind him. He didn't know who it was, but the thought of being followed sent a spike of panic racing through his system. He sped up, hoping to shake his pursuer, but whoever it was kept pace with him until he was close enough to his apartment that he _couldn't_ risk going forward. He stumbled to a stop on the roof of a nearby building, and _prayed_ the suit’s filters would be enough to hide his scent from whoever had been following him.

He could smell the Alpha before he saw him, a deep, loamy scent like freshly turned earth or moss after a light rain. The scent carried a hint of something sharp and spicy, like cinnamon, and something heavy, like musk. It was a heady scent, and Peter could _feel_ his body responding to it already. He had _minutes_ before things would start going south. Or perking up down south, anyway.

Then Deadpool pulled himself up and over the ledge, muscles gliding under his suit, his powerful arms flexing as he clambered onto the roof. “Spidey!” he exclaimed, and somehow his voice, which normally grated on Peter’s nerves, rumbled in his chest like the bass line of a symphony.

“Deadpool,” Peter gasped, hating how weak he sounded in that moment. “What do you want?”

Deadpool sniffed. “Baby boy you are leaving a trail of Omega-scent a mile strong in your wake. If you don't want people finding your mate you gotta be more careful.” He shrugged a little. “Maybe try showering? I know you can’t smell it yourself, but trust me-”

“What do you mean, I can't smell it?” Peter demanded.

Deadpool cocked his head in a way that made him look pitying. “Spidey. Babe. If you were an Alpha the sheer amount of Omega-scent pouring off you right now would have you in _the wildest rut_ of your _life,_ guaranteed.”

Peter frowned, seeing the first flaw in what Deadpool was implying. “If what you're saying is true, then why aren't _you_ in a rut?”

Deadpool laughed, but he sounded almost defensive when he answered with a flippant, “Yeah well I’m being exposed secondhand.” He frowned then, eyeing Spider-Man. “So why _aren't_ you with your Omega now?”

“Busy,” Peter tried to explain.

“Bullshit,” Deadpool retorted. “You don’t just _leave_ your Omega smelling like that! What kind of asshole...?” He trailed off, folding his arms over his broad chest. Peter had to fight to pull his eyes away from the sight. “Honestly Spidey, I thought you were _better_ than that!”

Peter was so lost it took him nearly a minute to piece together what Deadpool was saying. “Wait, you think I walked away from an Omega in heat?” he asked, feeling horribly confused.

“I think you walked away from _your_ Omega,” Deadpool answered, and the disappointment in his tone made Peter want to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. Beg for other things, too like-

Fuck. He had to get _away_ , and _fast_.

He turned, heading for the edge of the roof, not caring where he was going as long as it was _away from Deadpool_.

“Where are you going?” Deadpool demanded, his voice dropping into a low growl, and Peter _hated_ what that voice did to him.

He spun around, pointing his finger at Deadpool accusatorily. “You see?” he snapped. “This is why I let people think I’m an Alpha!” he snapped. “Because the _minute_ you find out I’m _not_ , suddenly everything I do has to pass some ‘Alpha approval’ stage!” He threw his hands in the air. “I’m not your Omega, Deadpool, I’m not even a _threat_ to you!” He marched back towards the merc, too pissed to fully consider the myriad of reasons why this might be a terrible idea.

Deadpool’s arms remained folded impassively over his chest, and if anything, it made Peter even _angrier_ . “What makes you think you have the right to tell me what to do or how to take care of my Omega? You have _no right_ to get involved in my personal life, and I won’t accept this gross overstepping of personal boundaries!” Peter stood on his toes, pushing his face into Deadpool’s. “Am I understood?”

Deadpool’s right hand whipped out, wrapping around Peter’s throat and squeezing just hard enough to show that he meant business - but not enough to do any damage. Under any other circumstance, Peter would have found this action terrifying. Instead, he found himself panting, growing aroused, his slick beginning to soak through the padding in his underwear.

Deadpool didn't seem to notice Peter’s predicament, too fixated on setting Spidey straight. “Now you listen to _me_ , Spidey,” he rumbled, every inch of him screaming ‘aggression’ and ‘threat’. Peter had never found him more attractive. Deadpool’s massive right hand tightened slightly on Peter’s throat as he stuck his left index finger in Spider-Man’s face, waving it scoldingly.  “I don't care _who_ you are, I’m not about to let someone I admire turn into an abuser. Not on my watch.”

Peter sputtered in disbelief, clutching at Deadpool’s grip, surprised to find that even with two hands he couldn't loosen the Merc’s formidable grip. “Abuser?” he cried in disbelief. “What do you mean, _abuser_?”

Deadpool shook his head, finger still wagging. “You never forget the sound of an Omega _screaming_ for their mate,” his voice sounded almost haunted, like he was speaking from personal experience. “You don’t just _ignore_ that desperation, Spidey. An Omega isn't some _prize_ or an _extra sexy_ toy. They have needs, and if you're not willing to do everything in your power to meet those needs…? When you can just _walk away_ from an Omega who _needs_ to be claimed…?” He shook his head sadly. “Maybe you're not the hero I took you for. Because doing that would be more than just cruel. It’s _wrong_.”

He released Peter’s neck, and Peter leapt out of grabbing distance, rubbing his neck and glaring at Deadpool.

“Go home, Spidey,” Deadpool said resignedly. “Take care of your Omega.”

Peter nodded awkwardly. “I will,” he said weakly, turning to walk away. A hand landed on his arm, tugging him back.

“I mean it, web-head,” Deadpool growled, and _god,_ Peter could feel himself getting even wetter at the low rumble of the masked merc’s voice. “Don't let me catch you out here again ‘til the Omega smell on you is sated… and… satisfied…” He trailed off awkwardly, glancing down.

Peter looked too, and quickly wished he hadn't. He was soaked. Worse than that, he was actually _leaking._ Dripping. His suit wasn't built to soak up this much moisture. His slick had soaked through the toilet paper he’d stuffed down his pants and was oozing down his thighs. The way he stood now, with his legs more than shoulder-width apart, the slick had pooled at his crotch, cresting into a tiny drop that hesitated there for several moments before it dropped, hitting the roof with a small ‘plop’.

Deadpool was staring at the small splatter of fluid like he'd never seen a drop before. Plop. Another drop joined the first. Peter felt his breath catch in his throat.

Deadpool looked up, his eyes locking with Peter’s. “Oh my god,” he said then, “You're not a Beta, either, are you?”

It wasn't really a question. “Let me go!” Peter yelped, tugging out of Deadpool’s grip, which had gone slack with the shock.

“Shit,” Deadpool said then. “Spidey, _you're-?_ ”

Panic flooded Peter’s system and he leaped up, slamming a hand over Deadpool’s mouth. “Whatever you were about to say,” he hissed, “do _not_.”

Deadpool made a noise underneath Peter's hand. He wiggled his face a little, then tugged his head aside. Peter was using his powers to keep a firm hold on Deadpool’s mask, though, so all the Katana-wielding antihero managed was to pop his neck.  Deadpool was breathing in sharp bursts through his nose. The white eyes of his mask widened.

Peter belatedly remembered that - like every Omega - he had scent glands in his wrists. Scent glands producing a pheromone that would trigger an Alpha’s rut. Scent glands that he’d just pressed _right under Deadpool’s nose_.  

This revelation led to another revelation - he had his legs wrapped around Deadpool’s neck and shoulders, his crotch hovering only a few inches below Wade’s chin. He’d been so focused on covering Deadpool’s mouth and getting good leverage to keep the merc’s notorious mouth shut that he hadn't even considered the compromising position he was putting himself in.

Deadpool was still staring at Spidey. Peter could really _smell_ him now too, his body responding to that heady scent of _Alpha_ without his permission. The space between his thighs felt cavernous, he needed to be filled, he whimpered and rolled his hips, half-grinding against Deadpool’s chest before catching himself. He was glad he wore a mask to hide the embarrassed flush that crawled across his face as he forced himself to stop moving his body, even though in that moment it was the _only thing_ he wanted to do.

Deadpool was still staring at Peter, probably in shock. He hadn't moved since Spider-Man had scaled him like a rugged oak tree. Peter pulled his hand away from Deadpool’s mouth, which required decidedly more effort than it should have. He clambered off of the red-spandex-clad mercenary, his legs quaking with the sheer force of the desire that was wracking his lithe body.

“Sorry,” he choked out, “I had to stop you, you were going to - just, don't…” he couldn't even bring himself to finish the sentence, knowing there was _no chance_ that Deadpool would be able to keep a secret like this for more than, oh, ten seconds.  

“Spidey…” Deadpool said softly, and suddenly Peter couldn't decide which he hated more - Wade’s usual sensual growl or the sickening _pity_ that now saturated his tone.

“I’m going home,” Peter told Deadpool, wondering if it was even safe to tell him that. “Don't follow me.” He flung himself off the edge of the roof, and for a split second he pondered just _not_ spinning a web. Then his self-preservation instinct kicked in and he webbed across the street, leaving Deadpool behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Shoutout to the most lame GI Joe cameo everrrrr~!) 
> 
> Thanks for all the positive feedback on the last chapter! For now, I plan to update this fic on a bi-weekly basis until it's complete. Thank you so much for all your comments and support. I hope you continue to enjoy the fic!


	3. It's Not Stalking If You're Trying To Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade makes a choice. The morality of this decision may be put forward for further discussion at a yet-to-be-determined later date. In the meantime, Spidey needs his help...

Deadpool watched Spidey go, his blood pounding in his ears. His chest was wet where the web-slinger had pressed up against it, his nostrils still full of the scent of an Omega in delicious, delicious heat.

 **What are you waiting for?** Yellow demanded. **Spidey was** **_all over you_** **! You know he wants you!**

“He wants an _Alpha_ ,” Wade corrected Yellow bitterly. “Any Alpha. Except this one, probably.”

 **_Yes, but why let that stop you?_ ** White retorted. **_It's not like you're getting any less ugly. Or younger. Or-_ **

“I get it,” Wade interrupted, though White paid him no mind and continued to list his shortcomings. He did his best to treat White as background noise, and focus on his next step. He groaned then, realizing something. “I _am_ going to have to follow him.”

 **Yes!** Yellow crowed.

White was more suspicious. **_What for?_ **

Deadpool sighed. “That’s one doozy of a heat he’s got swingin’ around. Do you really think people aren't going to _notice_?”

 ** _Maybe he has an Alpha,_** White pointed out. **_I doubt his Alpha would appreciate your interference._**

“I’m just going to make sure he gets home safe!” Wade protested.

 **Keep telling yourself that,** Yellow scoffed.

 **_If you're planning on actually following him, you'd better move quick,_ ** White warned.

 **Please,** Yellow said, **with a scent that strong we could track him down in a hurricane.**

 **_I thought you were ‘keeping him safe’, not following him home_ ** **against** **_his express wishes,_ ** White challenged.

 **_He’s_ ** **keeping him safe,** Yellow countered. **I, on the other hand, am** **_totally_ ** **following him home.**

Wade groaned, massaging his temples and trying to ignore the boxes. He didn't know which was the right call to make here, but ultimately his concern for Spidey's safety won out, and he started leaping from rooftop to rooftop, pursuing the webbed wonder. The chase didn't last nearly as long as he expected. He _just_ managed to get within sight of the wall-crawler in time to see him sling his way into a ramshackle apartment building.

Wade eyed the apartments with disgust. “What's a sweet thing like Spidey doing in a dump like that?” he wondered aloud.

 **We would treat him** **_much_ ** **better than that,** Yellow whined.

**_Yeah, because he sure wouldn't stay for our face. Or our personality. Or..._ **

Wade tuned White out as best he could, eyeing the building critically. He and Spidey’s Alpha would _definitely_ be having words. First of all, who kept their Omega shacked up in low-income housing? Spidey _so_ deserved better. Beyond that, what self-respecting Alpha let their Omega go out smelling _that fucking good_?

 **_Maybe he doesn't have an Alpha,_ ** White suggested.

 **Ohhh my goddd I hope that's what it is,** Yellow was practically vibrating with excitement.

Wade considered the possibility for a moment. Could it be that Spidey didn't...? No. No, it couldn't be. But now that the suspicion was planted in Wade’s mind, he _had_ to know the truth. Was Spidey unclaimed? It would certainly explain why he was swinging around smelling like hot shit, though that brought up _another_ question. Why would Spidey be swinging around suppressant-free if he _wasn't_ claimed?

A worrying thought came to Deadpool. He’d accused Spidey of being abusive, but, was it possible that _Spidey_ was being abused? Had his Alpha taken his suppressants away or abandoned him right as he started going into heat?

And if that were the case, _why_ hadn't Spidey gone to a fertility clinic? There were so many questions to be asked and only Spidey knew the answers, and he was-

Deadpool landed on the fire escape, glancing into the room Spidey had crawled into, and nearly choked on his next breath. Spidey had half peeled off his clothes, the top of his suit bunched up under his armpits, the bottoms of his suit gathered around his knees. He’d pulled off his backpack and gloves, which had been tossed haphazardly onto the floor. He was on his knees in the middle of a small, lumpy mattress that sat directly on the floor (not even a proper _bed?),_ and one hand was wrapped around his delicate manhood, the other hand splayed across his chest, playing with his nipples. He still wore his mask but his head was thrown back, his mouth quite obviously open, his breath coming in and out in desperate sobs. The young hero was quite obviously alone in the almost bare room, and now that he’d peeled the suit back Wade could smell him _through the closed window_.

“ _Shit_ , Spidey,” he whispered to himself, realizing that following Spider-Man home had done nothing to resolve his dilemma. To act or not to act? Did he make his presence known? Did he keep a careful watch from his perch and pretend it wasn't borderline voyeuristic to do so?

What was the right choice here?

His mind was made up for him when he spotted movement in the apartment below Spidey’s. The Alpha living one floor down started sniffing the air, and Wade could see the _exact_ moment his eyes glazed over and he started for the door. Fortunately, despite being far from a Boy Scout, Wade nonetheless believed in always being prepared.  He dropped down one level on the fire escape, eased open the Alpha’s window, and hit him with a dart dipped in horse tranquilizer. Normally, Wade would have just shot him, but he figured Spidey might not appreciate it if Wade started un-aliving all of his neighbors in a quest to preserve his innocence. Spidey probably wouldn't appreciate Wade interfering at all, but by now that was a moot point.

After some rapid-fire internal debating, Wade decided he would just get in there and ask Spidey what he needed - where were his suppressants? His Alpha? Was this even his _real_ apartment?  Maybe not that last one.

That decided, Wade scrambled back up to Spidey’s room, pausing at the window. This was a gross violation of the web-head’s trust. Was he really going to do this?

From inside the room, the whimpering sound of an Omega in desperate need of an Alpha (or suppressants) was enough to spur Wade into action. He burst through the window, skidding across the floor and dropping into a dramatic pose. “I heard you calling my name - oh wait - that'll be later tonight.” Deadpool winked (it took true talent to achieve the effect while still wearing a mask, but Wade was just that good).

Spider-Man nearly hit the roof. “What the _hell?!_ ” he yelped, scrambling to his feet and frantically trying to tug his clothes back into position. “I told you not to follow me!”

At least he seemed to have regained his senses after Wade’s dramatic entrance. Wade counted that a small victory. “I was worried about you, Spidey!”

“Worried?” The Omega practically spat. “More like ‘wanted some action’.”

“I am not opposed to some action,” Wade admitted. “But I came to tell you to call your fucking Alpha _now_ , because otherwise every Alpha in this godawful place is going to want a piece of dat ass.”

Spidey managed to get his pants up, and had pulled his shirt most of the way down. He folded his arms, the lower half of his abs and his bellybutton still hanging out. “What makes you say that?”

“I already had to take out one of your neighbors,” Deadpool answered. “ _Not_ permanently,” he clarified before Spidey had a chance to get all pissy about _that_ too.

Spider-Man’s arms dropped limply to his sides. “Oh,” he said weakly.

“Yeah, ‘ _oh_ ’,” Wade snapped. “So call your fucking Alpha!”

The silence stretched for what felt like hours before Spider-Man finally admitted, “I don't have one.”

Wade didn't understand _how_ that could be the case,  considering how fucking _hot_ Spidey was. But he wasn't actually here to ask after Spidey’s relationships. “Suppressants, then?”

Spidey just shook his head glumly.

“You don't have any?” Wade yelped. “Why not?”

“I have them,” Spidey answered sullenly. “But-”

“But nothing,” Wade cut him off. “Where the fuck are they?”

Spidey pointed at his backpack, sinking down onto the mattress and hugging his knees to his chest while Wade dug through his backpack. He found a whole bottle, mostly full, and threw it at Spidey. “Fucking _take one!”_ he snapped, finding a water bottle in the backpack and chucking it at Spidey too. Fucking hell.

Spider-Man started laughing. It wasn't a happy laugh. “I’m not taking them,” he said stubbornly.

Wade felt his anger start to get the better of him. “ _The fuck_ you're not,” he rumbled, his voice hitting that tone that meant _serious fucking business_ . He folded his arms and glared down at the young hero. “Put the _damn pill_ in your _fucking_ mouth, Spidey.”

Spidey nearly fumbled the jar in his haste to open it. Belatedly, Wade realized he’d accidentally turned that into an Alpha command that Spidey couldn't resist, at least not in his state. The web-slinger rolled his mask up a little to take the pill.  Wade didn't pick up on what Spider-Man was planning to do until the hero lifted the _entire jar_ in one swift motion and dumped the contents into his mouth. He grabbed the water bottle and washed them _all_ down his throat, choking a little. He stared up at Wade, defiance in every inch of his body language.

Wade was freaking out. “Holy _bejeebus_! Fuck! Those are supposed to be _one a day_ , what the hell! Do I call 9-1-1? Is that an overdose? Should you throw up? Don't fall asleep, oh _god_ Spidey what the _fuck_ , what the _actual fuck_?”  Spidey didn't even have the decency to answer, just smiling a pale, sickly smile, the rest of his face still hidden by the mask. Wade had to look away before he ripped that snug expression off Spidey's face. After several seconds passed, Wade took a deep breath and turned back to the younger man. “What. The fuck?”

“They don't work,” Spidey said.

Wade blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“The suppressants don’t work,” he explained, at this point sounding more tired than anything else. “I’ve developed a tolerance, some sort of immunity. Because of my healing factor.”

Wade whistled. “Fucking _hell_ ,” he commented. “So what are you going to do?”

Spidey scowled, his lips twisting in a grimace. “I was _going_ to just power through, but…”

“Unless you plan on ‘powering through’ all of your Alpha neighbors, that may not be your best idea,” Deadpool told him. “Seriously, the walls in this place are paper-thin and I could smell you from _outside_.”

Spidey tilted his head then, gazing at Wade, confusion twisting his lips into a half-frown. “Why aren't you like them, then?” he asked.

Wade froze. Fuck. He hadn't thought this part through. Was he really going to admit…? Wade scrubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Let's just say we _both_ have a healing factor interfering with our love life.”

Spidey leapt to his feet, baring his teeth in a growl. “ _Not_ _good enough_ , Deadpool. You come into my house, dig through _my things_ , demand to know _personal details_ about _my life_ , and now you think you can just keep your own secrets from me? _Like hell_.” He marched up to Deadpool, poking him in the chest with a solitary index finger. “At this point you know more about me than the woman who raised me. So _start_ _talking_.”

Wade stared down at Spidey's finger, willing himself not to rip the offending digit off of Spider-Man’s hand. He wanted to say ‘don't touch me,’ but he knew Spidey was right. He’d violated the web-slinger’s privacy and the kid had a right to at least feel like they had some form of mutually assured destruction to keep the other from talking. He didn't _like_ it, but he trusted Spidey. Even if Spidey didn't trust him.

“I can't rut,” Wade explained. “I… when I became like this,” he gestured at his body, “It was at the expense of a lot of things - having a whole and healthy body was one of those things.”

Spidey stepped back a little, his head moving up and down slowly as he looked over Wade’s body. “Looks whole and healthy to me,” he commented.

“Yeah well, cancer is pretty good at hiding,” Wade answered, “And you haven't really seen the worst of my face. Or the rest of me.”

“Cancer?” Spidey’s repeated.

Deadpool nodded. “My healing factor keeps it from killing me. But it also makes _treating_ the cancer impossible. So I’m in a constant state of terminal cancer, just...without the actual termination.” Wade shrugged, like it didn't bother him. It definitely did. “The cancer is everywhere, but it especially fucked up my skin and my endocrine system. Which is-”

“Yeah, I know what the endocrine system is,” Spider-Man interrupted.

“Fortunately I still have a knot,” Wade continued, “and li’l Wade still gets his jollies, but a lot of the hormone stuff that Alphas need to actually go into a rut? Yeah the cancer fucked with that system and rerouted it to _fuck-if-i-know-_ ville.”

Spidey bit his lip awkwardly. “So you can't...claim an Omega?”

“Oh I can do that, thank _fuck_ ,” Deadpool says. “I just don't get the Alpha-quality post-coital happy place.”

“So you _can_ but it doesn't _feel_ like you did,” Spidey clarified.

“That sounds about right,” Wade answered. “I don't actually know for sure though, I’ve never really had an Omega that wasn't being paid to pretend they liked my dick and tell me my face didn't look like raw hamburger.”

“Okay,” Spider-Man plopped back down on his mattress, tugging his knees to his chest again. He grunted a little. “So now what?”

“I don't fucking know, this is your party Spidey,” Wade answered. He moved to sit down, hesitated, and started to step back.

Spider-Man patted the mattress next to him. “Sit,” he said wearily. “Though I should warn you I’m going to be a hot mess in another few minutes.”

Wade plopped down next to Spidey, feeling a lot more awkward than he’d anticipated. “I feel like a kid without a date at the Senior prom,” he confessed in a stage whisper. “Just sort of watching other people about to get it on, y’know?”

“I never went to prom,” Spidey responded quietly. “One of the kids at school stole my suppressants and flushed them as a senior prank. I couldn't afford to get replacements.”

Wade felt a growl building in his throat. “What the fuck,” he rumbled. “Who _does_ shit like that?”

“High school seniors who got a full ride scholarship to play college ball,” Spidey said weakly. “I… I'm no athlete.”

“Uh, I beg to differ-” Deadpool began, but Spidey cut him off by lifting a hand.

“I meant _under_ the mask,” he said.

Deadpool shrugged. “I see your point. I’m the farthest thing from sexy without the suit. But _in it_? Hot damn.”

“You got that right,” Spidey chuckled in agreement, and Wade’s heart stuttered to a stop momentarily.

“Wait. Did you just-” Wade shook his head. He couldn't have heard that right.

Spidey whined low in his throat, wrapping his arms tight around his knees. “You've always been hot, Deadpool. I’m just not really in the market for one more responsibility, y’know?” He rocked back and forth as his breathing sped up a little.

“More responsibility?” Wade asked, not sure he followed.

“I’m not really the casual sex type,” Spidey explained. He grunted then, sounding almost pained. “Though today I might be willing to make an exception.”

Deadpool had to bite his tongue to stop himself from volunteering. Spidey didn't want Deadpool, he’d made that abundantly clear countless times over.

“And besides,” Spidey added, “You don't really strike me as the ‘settling down’ type.”

“Not for lack of wanting to settle down,” Deadpool said quietly, “more for lack of people who would actually keep me.”

Spidey looked at him sharply. “What makes you say that?”

“Spidey, I look like a massive festering wound in human form.” Deadpool laughed self-deprecatingly. “It's not something you want to wake up to every morning.”

Spidey shrugged. “Sounds lonely.”

Deadpool shrugged too. “You get used to it.”

Spidey hesitated for a moment, then leaned his head on Wade’s shoulder. “Deadpool?”

“Yeah?”

“I hate to do this but I don't think I can talk anymore.” Spider-Man’s voice trembled a little. “I swear to god, I’m going to jump your bones in like ten seconds, so you can either get out or put your dick so deep in me that you may never pull it back out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE YOU GET THE SMUT NEXT CHAPTER IM SORRY
> 
> it is the worst cliffhanger I admit I deserve all of the boos and rotten fruit you are prepared to fling in my direction.
> 
> Also fyi, I finally got my original fiction work up on kindle [here](https://read.amazon.com/kp/embed?asin=B06XK1XLVM&preview=newtab&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_ccQYybJ1ED49C)! If strong female characters, melodramatic fishboys, mutual pining and sassy high school romance sounds like your cup of tea, maybe consider checking it out! I'd really appreciate it! :D thanks, and as usual, the next chapter will be out in two weeks!


	4. Its Getting Hot in Here, So Take Off All Your Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter can't hold back anymore. Unfortunately, it seems that Deadpool _can._

Honestly, Deadpool’s reaction to Peter’s statement was priceless, hovering somewhere between ‘scandalized’ and ‘really fucking turned on’. Peter had tried to distract himself with talking, had pulled a dumb stunt with his suppressants (not that they'd done a lick of good, even at that dosage strength), and had finally realized he was going to end up in his room, alone and miserable, at least until his scent attracted a neighbor or ten. He was surprised to find that he believed Deadpool when the Merc told him his neighbors were coming - MJ had been enough to keep things from getting too crazy but he remembered she’d mentioned scaring off a few neighbors in passing. Not that he’d really been with it enough to fully realize what that meant. At the time he’d been too focused on getting _filled_.

Which is pretty much where his mind was at now, too. Desperate. Gaping. Need. Wade’s scent was rolling off him in waves, and it smelled exactly like everything Peter could ever want or need. It wasn't fair of him to ask Deadpool for this, and Peter had never planned on being one of those Omegas who jumped from partner to partner, but it looked like he didn't really have many options left to him at this point.

He figured Deadpool was a better option than being gang-raped by his neighbors. When had his life so derailed that those were literally his only options?

He had to admit, knowing that Deadpool _hadn’t_ followed him because of a rut frightened and pleased Peter in equal measure. Frightened, because if Wade was in his right mind, he now knew where Spider-Man lived. Pleased, because it seemed the Merc was legitimately concerned about his wellbeing, and Peter had never actually experienced that from anyone but his Aunt May, and to a lesser extent, Gwen and MJ.

It was enough for him to decide - well, he couldn't really count on his mind to be making rational decisions, but it was enough for his _body_ to decide that Wade could be trusted. At least this once. It wasn't like he had many other options available to him, anyway.

Deadpool was still staring at him. That wasn't right. For someone who was so vocal about wanting Peter’s body he sure took his time claiming what Peter had basically handed to him on a platter. But Wade wasn't in rut. Wouldn't go into rut. With a sudden rush of shame, Peter realized he’d never asked if Wade could even _enjoy_ knotting. Maybe Alphas could only enjoy themselves during a rut. Peter wouldn't know anything about that, he was an _Omega_.

“Oh my god,” he said, “I’m sorry, forget I said that. Don't feel like I’m pressuring you or anything.” Internally, his body was screaming for Deadpool to _please_ feel like Peter was pressuring him because he _needed_ this. But Peter was still _mostly_ in control. It was only day one of his heat, after all. It would be getting a _lot worse_ before it got better.

Deadpool cleared his throat and shifted his weight uncomfortably. “If anyone's doing the pressuring here, Baby Boy, it’s me,” he said. “You're not really in a place to be making these sorts of decisions.”

Peter bit his lip, feeling a whine build up in his throat. “What are you going to do, then?” he asked, his voice quavering slightly. _Don't go, don't leave me like this, it's only going to get worse when you leave. Your presence is the only thing keeping me sane._ It had been like this with MJ, too. Having an Alpha _there_ , even if they weren't _doing_ anything, was enough to push him right up to the edge. But once he was _at_ the edge, the Alpha’s presence was what kept him from going over it. The worst part of that heat in Senior Year had been when MJ left to go to school each morning, the way his body would quickly descend into a sobbing mess of desperation. He’d _needed_ an Alpha, and he’d spent most of his days in a fog of desire, desperately seeking something to fill him and finding that nothing but an Alpha would satisfy him. MJ had taken rut-blockers, which had been the only way to ensure she could get to school. Since she always carried a pile with her, just in case, it wasn't too hard to coordinate, at least on paper. Peter dimly remembered begging her not to take the pills, begging her to stay, but she’d been stronger than Peter, and had kept to their agreement, giving him whatever he needed - after school. He didn't resent her for that, he likely would have done the same, had their positions been reversed. It’s hard to explain to an Alpha how walking away feels like a literal gaping wound in an Omega’s chest, how every heartbeat spent apart feels like an hour of agony. It had been the worst week of his life - except, of course, for the week Uncle Ben had been murdered.

Wade sighed, pulling away from Peter. “I shouldn't be here,” he said uncomfortably. Peter bit his lip to hold down the half-scream of frustration the Merc’s motion produced. With the reduced contact Peter could _feel_ the panicky desperation returning to his body, and he curled in on himself, just barely coherent enough to turn his body away from Deadpool before desperately shoving a hand down his pants. He wasn't strong enough to hold in the whimper that crawled up his throat at the feel of _sensation_ without _satisfaction_.

Deadpool paused after taking a few steps, his body language screaming ‘indecision’. “Spidey?” he said, sounding torn.

Peter pitched over onto his side, where he could curl in on himself.  He didn't want to splay out, present himself to the mercenary, but he also couldn't just pretend everything was alright. If the Merc wanted to leave him here like this, now that he’d gone and pushed Peter _right_ up to the edge, he was going to do so under protest. A thought occurred to Peter. “Weren't you the one who said-” a shudder ran through his body, _god_ , how had he forgotten how _wet_ he was? “You said leaving an Omega like this was _abusive_.”

Deadpool stiffened. “I’m not leaving,” he said stubbornly, folding his arms and turning his head away from Peter as if to give him some privacy. “I’m _not_ ,” he insisted exasperatedly. “Besides, he’s in no shape to be fighting off any Alphas who happen to drop by…” he wasn't even talking to Peter, just the voices in his head.

The room was getting hot, and everything felt too close, too loud, too harsh. He tugged his shirt off, hissing because his normally soft blanket felt like sandpaper under his skin. The suit was even worse. It felt like it was melting into his skin and burned like acid. He peeled off the pants too, willing to endure the blanket if it meant ridding himself of the tight-fitting, boiling-hot attire. He forced himself to keep the mask on, pushed up over his nose, it's pressure a small unpleasantness he could live with. Everything else had to go. He could smell Wade, could even smell two other Alphas nearby. Wade had been right to worry, and Peter almost resented that.

Peter was burning up, his hands beginning to roam as he tried to do something about that. He whined low in his throat, wrapping a hand around himself in desperation. The Omega could identify each of his individual fingers as they stroked along his length. He could sense his own warm flesh under the pads of his fingertips, could _feel_ the way his fingers curled around his weeping cock. It was too good, too much, and Peter choked a little on a lusty note, his voice high and reedy with unfulfilled desire. It wasn't enough, though, and it was _infuriating_ , to smell Deadpool _everywhere,_ his musk _permeating_ the room, without being able to touch or taste. Or be _filled_.

He reached back behind himself with one hand, trying to fit a finger into his entrance. His hole greedily sucked it in, up to the first knuckle, slick coating his hand as he eased in all the way to the second knuckle. It started to burn then, reminding him that this part of him was relatively unused. He winced, but couldn't seem to stop himself from sliding in all the way to his third knuckle. That _still_ wasn't enough, and sooner than was probably healthy, he’d added a second finger, then a third. The fingering he was doing had long since stopped feeling pleasurable -- in fact, Peter felt like he was _spearing_ himself on his fingers, gasping frantically, grunting as he fought to grind down on himself.  He was sobbing, pumping desperately with one fist, nearly drawing blood with the second. The whole pose was unnatural and horribly uncomfortable, and no matter how hard he _pushed_ he couldn't get deep enough, couldn't get full enough. He was screaming, not words, just _howling_ because he _needed_ something inside himself and his fingers would _never_ be enough.

Frantically, Peter pulled his fingers out, noting almost absently that they were lightly tinged with red. He scrambled to the edge of the mattress, vision blurred by frantic tears, a high whine bubbling up into his throat. He found the toy, the artificial knot that MJ had given him as a joke gift years back, a gift everyone assumed awkward Peter Parker would just throw away. He hadn't thrown it away. He didn't use it often, but this was an emergency. He fumbled for the lube that came with it, but his hands were shaking too badly and he couldn't get it open. He tossed the lube aside in his haste, he didn't have _time_! He took the dry toy, positioning it at his entrance when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder.

“You don't wanna do that,” the voice rumbled in warning. He was right, Peter realized, momentarily stunned into coherence. He set the toy aside, but his mind was quickly fogging over yet again. The Alpha stood next to him, keeping a careful eye on Peter to make sure the Omega didn't seriously injure himself in his state of frantic need.

Peter choked, a sob catching in his throat as he turned to the Alpha, burying his face in the Alpha’s crotch, inhaling his scent, mouthing at the bulge in his pants. “Please,” he whined, the first coherent word he’d managed in nearly fifteen minutes. He ran his hands up the Alpha’s sides, enjoying the feel of his muscle under his hands, the texture like silk beneath his fingers. He practically _crawled_ up the Alpha, reaching his chest, burying his face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of rain, of freshly-turned earth and cinnamon. “Please,” he sobbed, wrapping his legs around the Alpha, grinding up against him, enjoying the friction but wanting _more_.

“Fuuuck, Spidey!” the Alpha groaned, “You're not making this easy!”

Peter didn't want to make things easy for him. He just wanted to be filled. “Please,” he said again, “I need-” his voice broke off in a pathetic whine. “ _Please!_ ”

He could feel the hesitation in the way the Alpha held himself, could feel the exact moment he gave in, his shoulders slumping, breath gusting out over the nape of Peter’s neck. “Okay,” he agreed softly. “Don't hate me when it's over, okay Spidey?”

Peter whimpered in response, nuzzling his neck. He felt warm, broad hands, still covered by leather gloves, lift him like he was nothing, settling him back on the mattress. The Alpha - Wade - peeled off one glove, running his hand down Peter’s body. Peter arched into his touch, moaning at the sensation. A warm hand bending his knees up, and then, the ghost of a touch over his already abused entrance, and Peter could _feel_ his whole body tense in anticipation, a wound spring ready to release. Wade teased his entrance, hissing lightly.

“Jeez, Spidey, you sure did a number on yourself,” he muttered.

“Had to,” Peter moaned, bucking his hips hopefully.

“If I do anything now…” Wade sounded more than a little hesitant. “Spidey, you're bleeding.”

“I have a _healing factor_ ,” Peter hissed. “I'll be - fine,” he groaned, trying to grind down on the Merc’s finger, but Deadpool pulled back before he could get any traction.

“Is there something else?” Deadpool asked, and why the hell would a sex-obsessed Alpha mercenary be asking Peter ‘has only ever done the deed that one time and can't even remember it properly’ Parker what else could be done?

“...the hell would I know?” Peter groaned, propping himself up on his elbows, gazing past his parted legs to look at Deadpool. The Merc was wearing _far_ too many clothes, he’d only removed one glove and Peter could feel Wade’s other hand, clad in a leather glove, settled over his hip. It burned on his skin like a brand. “Take it off,” he said, meaning the glove, but Deadpool removed his hand entirely. “No,” Peter grunted, sitting up all the way and grabbing Deadpool’s hand, tugging on the glove.

Wade seemed nervous. “Look, Spidey, that's not a good -” he started, his voice climbing into an undignified squeak as Peter yanked the glove off and licked the merc’s palm before softly suckling at his wrist.

The Alpha may not have been in rut, but his scent glands were still working _fantastically_ and Peter wanted to _bathe_ in the Alpha’s scent. He contented himself with inhaling, licking, sucking, and nibbling at Deadpool’s wrist, until the man seemed to come to his senses and yank the hand away. Peter tried to follow it and plowed right into the gun-for-hire’s broad chest. He smelled even better on his neck, and Peter tugged at the suit. “ _Off_ ,” he whined plaintively.

“Spidey, that's a terrible idea,” Deadpool was saying, but it was actually a _great_ idea.

Peter tried to peel the suit down and Deadpool captured his wrists, shoving him back. “I said _no_!” he rumbled, and the fury in his tone stabbed like a knife through Peter’s chest. He fell back. He was sorry, _so sorry_ for angering the Alpha. He curled up in shame, hiding his face. He could hear himself apologizing over and over again, his body quivering with both need and penitence.

The Alpha’s hands were on him then, but they were soothing, hushing, feather-light touches that felt like the soft glow of a fireplace on a cold autumn evening. It was good, but not _good_. He wanted _more_ than the gentle brush of skin-on-skin, _needed_ more. He arched into the touch with a moan, crawled back towards the Alpha, drawn by the heady scent of the man’s obvious arousal. Deadpool had knelt beside Peter to try and calm him down after he’d snapped at him with the biting tone of a threatened Alpha.

Peter dragged himself into Deadpool’s lap, burying his face in the man’s crotch, inhaling deeply. His hands wandered up onto the merc's hips, fumbling at his belt. “Off,” he whined, pressing his nose against the growing bulge in the red spandex.

Deadpool was panting, obviously affected by Peter’s attentions, and _still_ he refused to participate. Whining high in his throat, Peter pulled at Deadpool’s pants. The Merc stiffened, but held back. “Spidey…” he said warningly, and Peter growled back.

“Off,” he said again, not sure his vocabulary included any other words at the moment. His entire focus was drawn to that bulge, that _smell_. He tugged at Wade’s suit, peeling it down to reveal mottled skin. It’s texture was rough, cracked in some places. Peter nearly wept at the sight, so relieved to finally be allowed to touch the mercenary, no more barriers between them. He pulled the pants down carefully, they clung in some spots, stiff with dried blood and sticky with fluid from weeping sores. Peter could tell from the way that Deadpool’s massive thighs twitched, the jumping in his abs, that it hurt. He should have slowed down, tried to remove the suit more carefully, but he couldn't seem to find the necessary self control. He tugged the suit down around Deadpool’s knees, once again burying his nose in the mercenary’s crotch. He was surprised to find that Wade was completely hairless - but then, he'd said something about a healing factor and cancer? Peter wasn't sure he had the presence of mind to remember whether a healing factor could make a person lose their hair, but…

He wasn't opposed to the hairless look, it gave him easier access to - had Deadpool called it “li’l Wade”? it was anything but little, Peter decided, running his tongue along the length of it, humming low in his throat. This was good. His entrance still wept to be filled, but being this close to an Alpha, he felt some relief already. The buzzing under his skin was less pronounced, his frantic desperation fading to a less pronounced, emptiness pulsing somewhere just below his navel. He inhaled deeply, licking the head. Wade made a strangled noise, and Peter flickered his gaze up to see the Merc rocked back, braced on his arms, his whole body trembling. A laugh bubbled up in Peter’s throat and he wrapped his lips around the mercenary's length, sucking his way down the shaft. He could taste the mercenary, a sort of bitter-salt tinged with the same sharp cinnamon and earthy tones of his scent. It was _good_ , and Peter could feel the hunger inside him rear up again as he plunged forward, trying to take in as much as he could, spreading his jaw wide to accommodate Wade, feeling the tip of it hit the back of his throat. He couldn't breathe, but who needed breath when it seemed like if he just took him in a little deeper he might hit that hungry emptiness that seemed to be swallowing him from the inside?

Peter sucked and bobbed, frustrated that this _wasn't working,_ wasn't _enough_. He needed something in return, he needed the merc to _take_ him, giving himself was not enough on its own. As if reading his mind, Deadpool was suddenly grabbing him, his thumb pressing into the space between Peter’s collarbones, pushing him back. That _touch_ , that _force_ was exactly what he’d needed. Peter _screamed_ as he felt something powerful throbbing inside him in response to Wade's touch. His hips bucked with the force of his orgasm, the mattress beneath him now spattered with his come. Wade came barely a second later, all over Peter’s face, chest, and shoulders.

For a moment Peter just panted, trying to find his voice. Deadpool found his faster.

“Fuck,” he said breathlessly. The Merc was tucking himself back into his pants, his knot still firm but the erectile tissue a bit more on the flaccid side than it had been thirty seconds ago.

Peter scrubbed at his face, feeling coherent thought begin to make a comeback. He felt his face get hot, and knew his blush was probably spreading from his face to his neck, possibly as far as his shoulders, making his freckles stand out. “I’m so sorry,” Peter managed, pulling himself upright on wobbly legs. He moved towards the bathroom, then stopped. What kind of ass made a guest - uninvited or otherwise - wait while they took the first shower? “Did you want a shower?” he asked weakly, pushing the door open. “There's towels and stuff? Use whatever you need.”

Deadpool practically _flew_ past Peter on his way to the bathroom, slamming the door. He hadn't said _anything_ yet, and that, more than anything, terrified Peter. He covered his face with a groan. “I screwed this up so bad,” he muttered, hitting his forehead with the heel of his palm. “Stupid, stupid, stupid! You should have…” he trailed off, mostly because he had _no idea_ what he should have done. Besides found a real Alpha who actually wanted him and didn't look frozen like a disgusted statue when Peter touched him. Peter always told himself the flirting didn't mean anything. He was surprised at how much it hurt to realize the flirtation really _hadn't_ meant anything.

He scrubbed at his face, hand catching on the mask that still covered the top half of his face. Small mercies. Deadpool knew where he lived, knew he was single, and knew he was an Omega. At least he still hadn't seen Peter's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand here we see how bad I am at writing smut... Sorry, I get seconhand embarrassment from reading this stuff so it tends to be less proofread than other chapters. Anyway, hope you liked, I tried... 
> 
> Also, again, a reminder to check out [my original fiction](http://a.co/aD3svT6) about a stronk gurl hero and her fishy sidekick, available on amazon! There will be at least two more installments of this original fiction work, hopefully within the next month or so!
> 
> Thanks again for all your comments and support!


	5. Scrub a dub-dub, DP in a tub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool cleans up. Spidey seems more coherent. Maybe this could turn out all right after all?

Wade slammed the door and leaned against it, breathing heavily. Fuck. He hadn't planned on _actually_ taking advantage of Spidey, but he’d begged, he’d cried, and even though Wade knew it had just been the heat talking, he didn't like making Spidey feel ignored. He wanted to make his baby boy feel better. But he’d waited too long.

 **That's why you should always listen to me when I tell you to plow that ass,** Yellow grumbled. **He dry-fucked himself on his own fingers while you did fuck-all, then you had the balls to actually feel surprised when you saw the blood? There's something wrong with you.**

Deadpool scrubbed at his face. “I never thought…” he said weakly, trailing off into silence.

 _ **You never thought what, that Spidey could be an Omega? You’ve spent years hoping he was a Beta and not an Alpha, but now that you find out he’s an Omega you're put off?**_ White scoffed. _ **You do have a thing for self-punishment, don't you?**_

“That's not…” Deadpool sighed, peeling off his mask slowly, avoiding the mirror. “If Web-head’s an Omega, I don't know if I can give him what he needs.”

 _ **You wouldn't have been able to give him what he ‘needed’ if he’d been an Alpha,**_ White pointed out.

 **Why couldn't he be a Beta?** Yellow whined. **Then we could have just fucked him without the moral ambiguity.**

Deadpool peeled off his shirt with a wince. Of course today had to be one of his bad skin days. He’d still _technically_ responded to Spidey’s attentions, but it had taken him awhile to enjoy it _through_ the pain. He was used to always being in pain, but it didn't make it any easier. It sucked that he couldn't even get the rush after sex that Alphas like him craved. He still got a small high, but it was nothing like the bonding he’d experienced in the past. Then again, he’d never actually _claimed_ an Omega since Weapon X, hadn't even been _with_ one aside from those lovely working men and women in the oldest profession. They had very strict rules about claiming. “If Spidey had been a Beta we wouldn't have followed him home,” Deadpool reminded Yellow.

 **Speak for yourself,** Yellow grumbled at Wade’s reminder. **I’d follow that fine ass anywhere.**

Wade grunted in response, carefully peeling off his pants. The suit was a few days old at this point, and as he laid it aside, he suddenly felt guilty, realizing that as much as he’d accused Spidey of being a beacon of sex-smell, he probably had been just as potent to the poor Omega. He fiddled with the shower before figuring out how to turn it on. For a good minute the water flowed, a steady stream of icy water. Wade contemplated making this the fastest shower of his life, but...

Spidey knocked on the door, and Deadpool nearly wrapped himself in the shower curtain, terrified that the web-head would walk in on him and puke at the sight of his disgusting body on display. 

“Deadpool?” Spidey sounded tired. And frustrated. “Turn the knob all the way to the hottest setting and tap it twice - _gently_ \- before dialing it back about an inch, and the water should heat up.”

“Thanks Spidey,” Deadpool called through the door, sticking his arm in the shower, wincing as the cold spray hit his arm, and followed Spidey’s instructions carefully. After a minute or two the water went from freezing to lukewarm, and hovered right around that temperature for another minute. Deadpool decided the water wasn't getting any hotter (how did Spidey live without piping hot showers?!) and clambered into the shower. Hissing at the way the powerful spray irritated his already sensitive skin, Deadpool looked around for bodywash. It was some cheap box store generic brand and it would probably do more harm than good to his skin, but Deadpool owed it to Spidey to _not_ go out there smelling like a roomful of Alphas. He lathered the soap carefully, contemplating using Spidey’s 2-in-1 shampoo/conditioner instead of the body wash, but he assumed that it had been more expensive, so he probably shouldn't coat his entire body with it.

He washed his body carefully, hissing as the water washed over the open sores covering his body. Deadpool wasn't sure how long he stood under the spray, but eventually the water started to go cold(er). He shut off the shower and stepped out, toweling down carefully with a threadbare, woefully inadequate dishrag masquerading as a bath towel. 

He realized, then, that he had no spare clothes. He could actually smell his old clothes, now that he’d freshened up, and felt almost embarrassed to have been putting his body so close to Spidey when he’d smelled like _that._  

 _ **No wonder he had no choice but to throw himself at your crusty disfigured ass,**_ White mocked. _**Here you are, acting all high and mighty like not touching him is somehow defending his honor when you're the one that created the problem in the first place.**_

Deadpool did his best to ignore White, wrapping the towel around his waist. Nope. That was not going to work. Way too much exposed skin. Awkwardly, he knocked on the bathroom door. “Uh… Spidey? You wouldn't happen to have a spare change of clothes lying around?”

For a moment there was no answer. Then came a hesitant “Uh...sure…” from the other side of the door. Another minute passed, and Spidey knocked on the door. “Here,” he said, opening the door just wide enough to stick his arm inside, a sweatshirt and sweatpants gripped in his pale hand. “Hope they fit.”

Deadpool shook out the sweatshirt and stared. It was ridiculously tiny. Well. It was probably oversized on Spidey. But Wade had significantly more muscles than Spidey, particularly in the chest and shoulders department. Still. He tugged it on until it sat snugly, riding just above his hips. The sweatpants were equally tight, hovering above his ankles and getting far too intimate with his nethers for comfort. It was still better than putting on his crusty, blood-stained Alpha-stank spandex, so Wade was at least vaguely satisfied with the alternative. He wished Spidey had given him some gloves, and his toes were getting cold now too.

He tugged the sweatshirt hood as low over his face as he could manage and pushed open the bathroom door. “Hey Spidey, you got any socks?” he asked, stuttering to a stop when he realized the webbed wonder was still _mostly naked,_ sitting on his sex-stained mattress in nothing but a pair of tightey-whiteys. He was wearing a new mask, though, sans cum stains. His suit, complete with the stained mask, was in a small pile at the corner of the bed.

“Socks?” Spidey repeated, standing and moving across the room to a rickety dresser, where he tugged out a drawer, lifting a pair of worn, formerly-white socks. “Think these will work?” he asked.

Deadpool swallowed hard. Spidey wasn't even putting out as much scent as he had been earlier, but li’l Wade knew what he liked, and he’d been in the shower long enough for his healing factor to mostly clear up that pesky refractory period.

 _ **You're disgusting,**_ White informed him.

 **Oh my _god_ it should be illegal for a person’s tush to look that lush in a pair of tight white briefs, ** Yellow commented.

Trying desperately to focus on Spidey, who was waving the socks and had spun his torso to face Wade without moving his legs (that flexibility!), Wade coughed once, averting his gaze before answering. “Those’ll work great,” he said, glancing down at his hands and clearing his throat awkwardly. “You wouldn't, uh, happen to have any gloves…?”

Spider-Man shook his head. “Sorry,” he said, “fresh out.” He wiggled his fingers. “I'd offer you the spare ones from my suit, but they're pretty fitted, and I think it would take two of my gloves to fit one of your hands.”

“Well, you know what they say about big hands…” Wade said with a smirk.

Spidey’s shoulders slumped, and he sighed. “Deadpool,” he said, “Could you maybe not, right now?”

Wade winced. “Right. My bad, Spidey.” 

Spidey tossed the socks at his head, and Wade caught them easily, bending down to tug them onto his feet. They were a little snug for comfort, but Wade wasn't really in a position to complain. Spider-Man grabbed another article of clothing or two from the dresser, and moved across the room, heading for the bathroom. 

“Oh!” Deadpool remembered belatedly, “The water’s cold.”

“Yeah, well,” Spidey said resignedly, “I could use a cold shower.” He shut the door. Wade heard the sound of running water. He cursed then - he’d left his stinky clothes in the bathroom! He knocked on the door. “Spidey!” he yelped. “I left my clothes-”

“Yeah, I can smell them,” Spider-Man answered, sputtering a little from the water.

“Uh, should I…?” Deadpool mimed opening the door, which was dumb because Spidey was _on the other side of it_ and couldn't see his gesture.

Apparently Spidey’s powers extended to seeing through walls, or at least good guessing, since he sighed and said, “It's probably better to keep them quarantined in here.”

Deadpool nodded, then said, “Works for me,” just in case Spidey had selective x-Ray vision and could only see through walls when Wade was miming something.

A few minutes passed in awkward silence, Wade pointedly avoiding looking at the mattress while also trying to not look too curious about the rest of the small apartment. White and Yellow were giving him a running commentary on the place, noting with distaste Spidey’s minimalist approach to furnishings. He was a bit distracted by this, and so he never moved from his spot just outside the bathroom door. The water shut off, which Wade did not recognize as significant until the bathroom door clicked open and Wade leapt away from it with a girlish scream.

Spidey tilted his head a little. “O...kay…” he said weakly, not sure how to respond to that. He wore a shapeless t-shirt and faded cotton shorts. Sighing, he crossed the room to his bed, dropping down and pulling his knees up to his chest, crossing his legs at the ankle. “Now what?” he asked. 

Deadpool shrugged. He had no idea. He tugged at the clothes he’d borrowed from Spidey. “You're not gonna, uh, change those sheets?” he asked awkwardly.

“I only have two sets,” the webbed wonder answered. “Besides, I don't have a washing machine or dryer, and I doubt it's a good idea for me to head to a coin laundry like this.”

Deadpool nodded. He wished the smell weren't quite so potent, but he also didn't need to worry about the smell triggering a rut. He cleared his throat awkwardly, fixing his gaze on the ceiling.

“Deadpool,” Spidey said, a note of resignation in his tone. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.” Deadpool turned to look at Spidey. The hero was resting his chin on his knees, staring at the floor, arms folded tight around his legs. He looked the very picture of misery. “You deserve better,” the wall crawler said then. “I’m sorry.”

Deadpool blinked. He didn't follow. “Come again?”

Spider-Man seemed to sink deeper behind his knees. “You don't need some Omega crawling all over you,” he said, “It's gross, I know. You didn't even _want-”_ he cut himself off with a pained sound. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Don't feel obligated to stay on my behalf. I'll figure something out. _I always do,”_ he added the last part in a whisper so quiet Wade almost couldn't hear him.

This would _not_ do. Somehow Spidey seemed to be under the bewildering impression that _Wade_ was the victim in all this, as if Wade hadn't taken advantage of Spidey’s condition to live out one of his many fantasies involving the web-head. “You've got nothing to apologize for,” Wade assured him. “If anything, _I-”_

“You don't have to lie,” Spidey said sharply. “I...it hurt, didn't it?”

Wade froze, not sure how to answer that. “Well, yeah, but-” he began, but Spider-Man cut him off, burying his face even deeper.

“But nothing,” he snapped. “I hurt you.”

“Baby boy, even setting aside the fact that I have a ridiculous healing factor, I can honestly say that I’ve endured worse than-”

“But that’s just it!” Spidey snapped, lifting his head suddenly. “You shouldn't have to _endure_ anything!” he shook his head in frustration.

Wade hated that helpless feeling of nothing you say being the right thing to say, and Spidey was giving him that in spades. How hard was it to understand that _Wade_ should be the one feeling guilty, not Spidey? Wade could have left at any time, but he _didn’t._ Any discomfort he experienced was on him because he’d _chosen_ to stay - even if Spidey had wanted to make him stay he wouldn't have been able. 

“How can I prove to you that I meant it when I said it's not a big deal?” Deadpool demanded. “Should I fuck you? Would that be proof enough?”

Spidey winced. “Could you maybe not…” he shifted uncomfortably.

 _ **God, how obvious does he have to be before you realize he's repulsed by your very presence?**_ White snapped.

 **Abort! Abort!** Yellow was shouting.

Wade shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to blot out the screaming in his mind. “Right,” he said, rather more subdued than usual. The silence grew more oppressive with each passing second. 

Finally, Spidey cleared his throat before glancing up. “You don't have to stand there,” he said. “You can sit down. Or leave. Do what you want. Whatever.”

That was when it clicked. Wade had completely forgotten their brief conversation before the web-head had wrapped his pretty lips around Wade’s - ahem. If Wade didn't watch his thoughts he was going to need to adjust his too-tight-and-getting-tighter sweatpants. But the fact was, Spidey had mentioned that he wasn’t one for casual sex. Which meant that Spidey probably was feeling the effects of not only his heat, but also the morning-after awkwardness when you realize that hot person from the night before actually has crooked eyebrows and bad morning breath and suddenly you regret every decision you made the night before that brought you to this point. Spidey regretted dragging Wade into this because Wade was a pity fuck at best, and definitely not worthy of Spidey. Now the web-slinger was trying to find a diplomatic way to tell Wade that he was gross and unwanted.

 _ **Literally. Since the minute you walked in the door. There has not been one moment where Spidey ever indicated he would be interested in fucking us - even if it would help with his heat.**_ White reminded Wade harshly.

 **At least when he’s in heat he thinks we’re hot,** Yellow argued. **Maybe we just conveniently stumble across him every time he goes into heat!**

“That's not only disgusting, it’s plain wrong to treat someone like that!” Deadpool yelped indignantly. “Hell no.”

Spidey’s head jerked up in shock, and Wade realized he’d spoken aloud. “Not you,” he said quickly.

“Ah, _them,_ ” Spider-Man said, almost dismissively.

 **Wait, he knows about us?** Yellow sounded excited.

 _ **He knows about us?**_ White echoed, sounding infinitely more suspicious.

“You know about them?” Wade asked Spidey.

Spider-Man stared blankly at Deadpool for what felt like ages. “Dude,” he finally said. “You talk to thin air on a regular basis.”

 ** _It could be bluetooth!_** White argued.

“Good point,” Wade said, then turned to Spidey. “It could be an earpiece.”

“I would hear something - like a buzzing insect, or a high-pitched tone,” Spidey answered, almost dismissively. “Unless you have better tech than SHIELD.”

 **I wish!** Yellow snorted. **That would be so cool.**

“So…” Deadpool wasn't sure how to handle this information. “How long have you known?”

“Since you argued with them about whether or not ass-touching was allowed under the bro code -- it's not, by the way.”

 **Lies!** Yellow hissed, **Any ass grab that lasts for less than five seconds is clearly not a breach-**

“You can tell whoever’s talking now to stuff it,” Spidey interrupted Yellow, “because it's not in my bro code.”

 **Yeah, well…** Yellow trailed off then, giving off an air of resentful silence without actually putting his thoughts into words. Perhaps he had no words.

Wade felt like someone had yanked the floor out from under him. “Did you just...?”

 _ **Oh my god I love this man let's marry him immediately,**_ White decided. _**Anyone who can get Yellow to shut up has my undying loyalty.**_

 **Hey!** Yellow protested.  

“Bro code aside,” Spidey tilted his head contemplatively, “I suppose any butt touch discussions have been rendered a moot point now, considering our current predicament.”

Wade nodded solemnly, though his mind was still reeling. A moment later, the gravity of what Spidey had said dawned on him and he shook his head sharply. “Hey, just because you said ‘yes’ once doesn't mean you're obligated to say it every time,” he said. “consent is sexy.”

 **Please,** Yellow snorted. ****That ass is sexy. Consent is just a means to an end.** **

Spidey shrugged. “If you say so,” he said wearily. “I wouldn't know, being an Omega and all.”

Wade yelped a little. “What is that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

Spider-Man looked away, staring out the window. “It’s hard for anything to feel consensual when your whole body seems dead set on violating itself.”

“That's why you choose a good Alpha, get _claimed,”_ Wade protested. “An Alpha that has claim can help control those urges, make those symptoms more manageable!” he took a step forward, almost involuntarily. “It doesn't _have_ to be this bad every time!” 

Spider-Man laughed; it was a heartless, hopeless sound. “Yeah, because Alphas who would be interested in putting up with my bullshit are a dime a dozen around here,” he scoffed. 

“There’s no way that's true,” Wade argued, “All they gotta do is fucking look at you! You're fucking _Spider-Man!”_  

Spider-Man whirled around, his gaze searing into Wade. “Oh, I suppose that means you volunteer to be my Alpha?”

Wade felt his heart skip a beat. “Hold on now baby boy, what are you …?”

Spider-Man covered his face with his hands. It seemed odd, for some reason, to see pale, supple skin rather than red spandex gloves. Not bad, just...different. Deadpool tried to surreptitiously adjust his pants.

“Look, forget that,” Spidey said wearily. “Sorry. I’m - under a lot of stress,” he said weakly. “I gotta call in sick at work, and at my _other_ on-again, off-again job. And email my professors.” He shook his head dejectedly, “I don't even know what I’m supposed to tell them! Suppressants are supposed to _work._ For _everyone._ There’s bound to be suspicion…” he groaned. “Why _me?_ ” he muttered. “Why _this?_ ” He hit his forehead with the heel of his palm, creating a dull thud that made Wade wince. “Why couldn't I have been born a beta? Or an Alpha?”

“I mean, if you stopped responding to suppressants, wouldn't rut blockers have stopped working too?” Wade pointed out.

Spidey’s head jerked up, almost like he’d forgotten Wade was there, too mired in his pity party to acknowledge the world outside his head. “Oh,” he said weakly, “I guess, technically…”

Wade's stomach chose that moment to chime in with an opinion of its own. Wade winced. Spidey’s shoulders slumped.

“You got any food in this joint?” Wade asked.

Spider-Man hesitated for a moment too long.

“Oh my god, Spidey, how the fuck are you even alive?” Wade demanded. “Your water barely gets above frigid, your bed doesn't live up to its deceptive title, your walls are thin as paper, and you don't have food? What the fuck?” He tugged at the clothes he’d been handed. “Even your clothes have seen better days - who _abandoned_ you to this hellhole?” 

Spider-Man tensed. “I don't expect you to understand my circumstances or my choices, Deadpool, but as long as you're under my roof, you’d do well to _respect them.”_

Wade could feel his pulse thrum excitedly at the commanding tone Spidey wielded. How did he do that, especially as an  _Omega?_ It felt exactly the way people described an Alpha’s command - an almost-tug at some fundamental part of the mind, a pressing need to do what you were being told, a desperation to gain the approval of the one issuing the command… Wade was fucked, Spidey was too perfect, he somehow managed to act like an Alpha but with just the right blend of genetics to make him irresistible to Wade - and probably basically every other Alpha in existence. 

“Yessir,” he said, saluting sharply, before adding a meek, “could we at least order delivery?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! I had to take an update week off because life had me by the balls... Moving, quitting my job, and also a sinus infection had me running in 50 different directions, and I just wasn't able to get to this fic. It should be regular updates again from here on out, thanks for your support and feedback!


	6. Pizza Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pizza is eaten. Things start heating up again.

Deadpool ate like a _horse_. He ordered four large stuffed-crust pizzas and proceeded to _inhale_ approximately two of them in the blink of an eye. Peter ate delicately, not sure if he approved of eating pizza bought with Deadpool’s blood money. Still. The Merc had handsomely tipped the delivery boy, a stuttering Beta who had _definitely_ smelled the sex cloying the air of Peter’s apartment. The delivery boy had been discreet, and Deadpool had exchanged numbers with the boy after asking if he could “call him later for personal deliveries,” not that Peter had the slightest clue what the merc had meant by that. 

Still, anyone who turned out to be a generous tipper jumped up a few notches in Peter’s overall estimation of their character, and Deadpool had been consistently surprising him since the moment he’d somersaulted into Peter’s apartment. Not only had Deadpool been incredibly understanding and considerate, he’d also been fighting to restrain himself -keeping the casual touches, cringey come-ons, and inappropriate flirting to a bare minimum, which was more than Peter had expected from an Alpha notorious for _not knowing how to shut up._

He watched Deadpool as he ate, and the merc watched him in return. Peter wasn’t sure how he felt about Deadpool’s gaze, the way it hovered over his form, lingering in places Peter would rather not draw attention to. Then again, maybe he was imagining the look the hired gun was giving him. Already he could feel new slick oozing from his entrance, a heat settling in his loins as he sat on the edge of his mattress and picked at a slice of one of the four truly mystifying pizza topping combos that Deadpool had ordered. 

“Olives and pineapple, Deadpool?” Peter grunted, mask pushed up over his nose. At least part of him wondered if there was any point to the mask - Deadpool had already seen and smelled enough that if they crossed paths on the street he would undoubtedly recognize mild mannered Peter Parker for who he truly was: Spider-Man. 

“Sweet and salty!” Deadpool exclaimed, helping himself to a slice, keeping his hood pulled low and hiding his face with his hand. Peter couldn't understand why. Deadpool had never tried this hard to hide his face from Spider-Man while eating before. He remembered, dimly, that sometimes when they hung out after patrol, Wade would sometimes forego meals, citing ‘bad skin day’ as his reason. 

Oh god. Peter nearly dropped his pizza. “It's a bad skin day, isn't it?” he said, his tone a mixture of weary resignation and faint hope that he’d misread the situation. No such luck. 

Deadpool suddenly found the no-tomato-sauce-pesto-garlic-anchovy pizza incredibly fascinating, his hand hovering like he couldn't decide which slice to take. “...you could say that,” he said weakly, not bothering to look at Peter. 

“Oh my god,” Peter covered his face in shame, “I’m so sorry, I didn't even think to ask.” He stood suddenly, crossing the room to rummage in his drawers, producing an older mask of his after several seconds of digging. He wandered over, presenting it to the merc. “I didn't consider what might make you most comfortable,” he said by way of apology. “Sorry, I still don't have gloves.” 

Deadpool took the mask gratefully, slipping it on. “I might have just jizzed in my pants a little,” he said brightly, “I think ‘wearing spidey’s mask’ is in the top ten on my bucket list.” He laughed a little, but it was awkward and forced, since he was trying so hard to lighten the mood and Peter wasn't able to bring himself to fake laugh along. The merc hid his hands in his lap. “Sorry you don't have anything to hide these ugly mitts, though. They can't be good for your appetite.” 

“I don't care what your hands look like, Deadpool, and I’m pretty sure my appetite is more concerned with your eccentric pizza toppings than anything else,” Peter said. He’d never really had a problem with the hired gun’s skin, whether it was a “good” or “bad” day. He found the mottled, textured skin … interesting? It looked painful. More than anything, when Peter saw the skin, he cringed internally, thinking about how scars like that must have once hurt something awful. 

Except today, he wasn't cringing. He was thinking about the texture of those hands, what they might feel like on his… or _in_ his… He felt his heart rate accelerate, half panting with the force of sudden, desperate _need._ The respite period was over, Peter realized with dismay. It had barely been an hour. Fuck. First day respite periods were said to come more easily and last longer. 

He groaned low in his throat, stuffing the rest of his pizza in his mouth and trying to ignore his steadily stiffening cock. _Shit,_ he was so fucking wet, he could _feel_ his entrance, how hot and slick it was getting. His entrance was weeping. His _cock_ was weeping. 

Deadpool was staring at Peter, watching as he choked down a massive bite of pizza, watching his throat bob with the effort. The merc cleared his throat uncomfortably, adjusting his pants a little. He sniffed the air. “Shit, Spidey,” he said then, “ _already?_ ” 

_Fuck,_ Peter could come just at the sound of that low, husky rumble any day of the week. He whined, fighting to keep his hands off his body. The longer he could prolong his surrender to the desires of his body, maybe the longer his next respite would be. All he had to do was keep his hands from wandering... 

He realized one hand was already in his pants, the other up his shirt - when had that even happened? Deadpool was gathering up the pizza boxes and tossing them in the direction of the kitchen. His arm muscles bunched with the motion. He wasn't _trying_ to look powerful or sexy or, fuck, like an Alpha who had provided an excess of food for his Omega, and yet… Peter felt his mouth drop open, felt saliva pooling in the corners of his mouth. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears, his skin heating and prickling. His gaze raked over the mercenary’s body, taking in every curve of muscle, the power under such rigid control. Peter felt like he was boiling, a thin sheen of sweat covering his body. With a grunt, Peter peeled off his shirt, almost frantically. 

Deadpool froze, pizza box in hand, transfixed by the sight. “ _Shit_ ,” he breathed, and _that voice._ It did things to Peter. 

With a whine, Peter shucked his shorts and briefs also, distantly thinking he should be feeling self-conscious. All he seemed to find in himself at that moment was sheer, wanton _lust._ He panted heavily, his entrance dripping slick as he slowly turned and presented himself to Deadpool, ass in the air, knees spread wide, face pressed into the mattress. “Please,” he moaned, his dangling cock already fully erect and dripping with precum, “Fuck me.” he reached back, spreading his cheeks to give the merc a better view. “It's all healed up now, see?” 

It was, too. One advantage of the heat was that it kicked his healing factor into overdrive. It was a bit of a two-edged sword, though, since his healing factor was what had made this entire awkward encounter necessary. 

Wade was _still_ clinging to the pizza box, his chest heaving with gulping breaths, his face hidden by the spider-man mask Peter had handed him. Hesitantly, Wade pushed up the mask to get a better scent. He hissed, reaching down to adjust his sweatpants. “Spidey,” he groaned, palming himself through the pants, “Babe. You don't want-” 

Peter wanted to _scream,_ every part of his body on fire. He shook with desperation, he _did_ want. He _needed_ the Alpha! Instead of a scream, what escaped his mouth was a pathetic, desperate whimper. “ _Please,_ ” he begged, and once he started, he found he couldn't stop. “ _Please,_ Deadpool, please, fuck me, I need your knot, I need you buried deep inside me, please, _fuck,_ I can't keep going like this, I _need_ you…” tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, his thighs quivered with relentless need, his voice was high and reedy with desperation. 

_“...shit,_ ” Deadpool said, and then he moved forward, his bare hands coming up to rest on Peter’s hips. “Fuck, Spidey, you can't do this to me after talking about how being an Omega makes you feel violated,” he whispered brokenly. “I never wanted to _hurt_ you.” 

“Please,” Peter whined, rocking his hips, trying to look at Deadpool, to meet his gaze, to show him how very desperately he needed the Alpha’s knot _right that second_ , “I can't think about that right now,” he felt one of his hands creeping towards his entrance, the other fumbling at his cock, “I can't _think,_ ” he clarified, “I need--” 

Wade captured Peter’s hands with his own large, rough hands. “Spidey,” he said, “don't do that to yourself. Not again.” 

“Then _you_ need to!” Peter cried, his voice breaking. Couldn't the merc _see_ that? “I know it’s disgusting, okay? I know this isn't what you expected, I’m sorry I’m not a Beta or a big strong Alpha who could give you the powerful authority figure you need to get off!” His whole body was shaking, Deadpool was _holding his hands_ and _not touching him where he needed it._ “I’m sorry you ended up in this position, I’m sorry to ask for this when your skin is hurting you - _**god!**_ ” Peter screamed, his hips bucking as a shooting pain lanced through his abdomen. “Ah, ohh, _goddd_ …” He moaned louder, driven incoherent by the twist of his internal organs, shifting to accommodate an Alpha’s knot, becoming fertile, preparing to incubate a pup. It _hurt,_ worse than Peter remembered, maybe he’d just forgotten in the fog, maybe it really _was_ worse this time. The pain subsided then, throbbing gently in the background. 

“Spidey,” Deadpool was saying, releasing his grip on Peter, hands fluttering in concern, “Spidey, Spidey, Spidey, are you okay?” 

With a desperation and rage of which Peter had no idea he was capable, he fixed his gaze on Deadpool and screamed. “ _Wade! Fucking! Wilson! Fuck me **now!**_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, thanks for the support you've shown for this fic! I'm continuing to work my way through but job hunting has been eating up a lot of my time lately... to offset some of my expenses, I've recently opened commissions on tumblr, so if you're interested in seeing me write something for you (either to post here on AO3 or just for your own personal enjoyment), or you want to see me write another chapter for a fic or continue a one shot, you can bounce over to my tumblr (vulcan-highblood) for more details on what fandoms/ pairings/ prompts I'm willing to take on. :)  
> thanks for reading, the next chapter will be up in two weeks!


	7. A Night of Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade finally does what Spidey asks, but under protest.

Fuck. Spidey had used his _name._ He’d told Spidey his name a long time ago - the web-slinger had continued to call him “Deadpool” despite the newfound knowledge. He’d also never given Wade any hints as to his own name. The merc had taken that as a sort of barrier, a gap between them that Spidey intentionally reinforced by not using his name.

 **Oh my god,** **_please_** **, if you don't whip your dick out in the next ten seconds, then** **_I’m_ ** **going to start begging,** Yellow practically shouted. **For the love of dick, just fuck him already!**

 **_He_ ** **is** **_healed,_ ** White said, trying too hard to sound like this was merely a neutral observation. **_And he did ask nicely._ **

Spidey was groaning, his whole body shaking with desire, his cock straining with need, his entrance glistening with arousal. Wade had never seen a more beautiful sight. He reached out to touch, stopped, drew back. “I can’t,” he whimpered. “I can't do it like this, I never wanted him like _this_ ,” he tried to explain, but found he didn't really have the words to fully express why this was messing him up.

Spidey felt powerless. Helpless. Like his body was a pawn, controlled by forces he couldn't hope to contain. Wade _knew_ that feeling. He couldn't in good conscience be the _agent_ of pain like that, not to Spidey.

One of the wall-crawler’s fingers was edging towards his entrance. He was trying to penetrate himself with dry fingers _again._

 **_Remember when you waited too long last time and he made himself_ ** **bleed** **?** White snapped. **_Maybe avoid that this time. Fucking touch him._ **

**He gave you permission! He asked for it!** Yellow chimed in.

“He’s not in his right mind!” Wade protested. Any further argument was driven from his mind when Spidey _screamed_ again, and it was so much worse than the memory of Omegas screaming for their Alphas in the Weapon X program, worse than anything he’d _ever_ heard because it was _Spidey_ , and Spidey should never have to suffer like that.

A small sob shook Spidey’s body, then another one. Wade felt his stomach shrivel like a raisin. Spidey was _crying_.

“I know you hate it,” Spidey said. There were tears in his voice. “I’m sorry,” he managed through clenched teeth, followed by a low scream. He clutched at his abdomen. “Please,” he breathed, his voice barely even a whisper. “Please, Wade.”

That was too much for Wade to ignore. He edged forward, gently placing one hand on the small of Spidey’s back, the other brushing over the hero’s slick entrance.

“ _Fuck_ , yes,” Spidey breathed, and the way his voice _purred_ went straight to Wade’s already incredibly interested dick.

Wade glanced around for the lube Spidey had fumbled earlier. It sat next to the toy at the corner of the bed, where Spidey had apparently set them while Wade had been showering. He leaned over Spidey to reach the lube, feeling the heat radiating off the lithe hero’s body, and snagged the small bottle. Another problem presented itself. Condoms. Wade wracked his brain, trying to remember if he had any in his suit. “Spidey! You got condoms?” he asked.

A low moan, and Spidey answered hesitantly. “Even if I did, they wouldn't be in _your_ size,” he said, sounding almost coherent. For a moment Wade could pretend they were two consenting adults and not an unbonded Alpha taking advantage of a helpless heat-stricken Omega. Then Spidey whined, grinding his hips back against Wade, leaving a wet stain of slick across the front of Wade’s sweatpants.

Wade stumbled to his feet, _fuck!_ They needed protection, he was _not_ going to fucking knock up Spider-Man! “I'll go find condoms,” he said.

“Don't need ‘em,” Spidey said, but Wade knew better than to listen to that.

“Too bad, baby boy,” he said, growling when the Omega started inching a hand towards his entrance. “ _Don't you fucking_ **_dare_ ** _touch yourself while I’m gone,_ ” Wade growled, putting as much Alpha command into his tone as he could muster.

Spidey yelped, his hands dropping to the mattress. His ass remained in the air, and he jerked his hips desperately like he hoped the air might somehow provide the friction he needed.

Wade tore his gaze away, trying not to dwell on the far-reaching impact of using multiple Alpha commands on Spidey. That shit was known to stick. He’d have to remember to release Spidey from the command later or the hero might find himself unable to masturbate unless Wade was present.

 **I fail to see the problem with that,** Yellow commented.

 ** _There are other lasting effects,_** White reminded Deadpool. **_If you use them too many times, it may interfere with his ability to find a_** **real** ** _, healthy Alpha instead of a sick, broken fuck like you._**

“There was no other way to keep him from touching himself while I looked for protection!” Wade protested, stepping into the bathroom and digging into his discarded suit. “I’ll be careful!”

 **_Oh yeah, careful is your middle name_** **,** White scoffed. **_My fears are allayed._ **

**I don't see how grooming him to prioritize our Alpha commands over other Alphas’ is a bad thing,** Yellow complained. **Maybe he’ll even bond with us!**

“We don't even know if I _can_ bond,” Wade reminded them, rifling through his many pouches. “Aha!” he tugged out a condom, considered it briefly, and dumped the entire contents of the package into his hand. “Think ten is gonna be enough?” he asked.

 ** _I think that's being rather optimistic, so, sure, I guess,_** White said.

 **Oh godddd, it's really happening! It’s been** **_years_ ** **since we had an Omega!** Yellow was positively writhing with excitement.

“This is not about us, guys,” Wade reminded them. “It’s about Spidey.”

 **But he's not even going to remember it!** Yellow whined, **why are we so concerned with** **_his_ ** **pleasure?**

**_Because it’s Spider-Man._ **

“Because it’s Spidey!”

**…oh.**

**_Just go fuck the poor kid already,_ ** White grumbled.

Wade pushed the bathroom door open, stuttering to a stop as the heady scent of an Omega in heat washed over him. Spidey hadn't moved, hands fisted in his bedspread, his whole body trembling with the effort it took to keep from touching himself.

Wade nearly came from the sight and smell alone. “Fuck, Spidey,” he said, desire pitching his voice down into a low rumble.

Spider-Man writhed, mumbling incoherently into the blankets. His hands clenched tighter. “ _Please,_ ” the hero managed, and Wade was on him before he even realized he’d crossed the room.

The merc reached out, caressing Spidey’s hips, trailing kisses down the arch of Spidey’s back as he found the lube, coating his hand generously before reaching down and taking Spidey’s hard, weeping cock in hand and gently, oh-so-carefully, giving it a tug.

Spidey screamed, but it wasn't a scream of pain this time, but sweet relief. He ground into Wade’s hand, his breath coming in desperate sobs as Wade worked his member gently, trailing his lips over the swell of Spidey’s pert, perfect ass, burying his nose in the rich scent of Spidey’s slick, tonguing his entrance hesitantly to get a taste. It was salty, a little bitter, and yet it was a heady, rich scent that had Wade suddenly panting, hips jerking almost instinctively. He ran his tongue over Spidey’s puckered entrance, and the tight ring of muscle relaxed fractionally, allowing Wade to press the tip of his tongue in. With a cry, Spidey ground back into Wade, trying to fuck himself on Wade’s tongue. Wade pulled back after a moment, letting go of the webbed wonder’s cock so he could lube up his fingers. He started with one, moving slowly, gently, careful not to injure the hero. He’d _said_ he was all healed up, but Wade wanted to be extra careful, just in case.

Before long he’d gotten one finger all the way inside, crooking it this way, that way, trying to find the places that made Spidey shriek with overwhelming pleasure. He found the spot when he curled his finger _just so_ , which is exactly what he did for a few seconds before slowly adding a second finger. His second hand returned to Spidey’s dick, stroking gently, bringing the hero ever closer to completion.

Spidey whined, gasped, cried, begged… he was incoherent, waves of pleasure wracking his lithe frame. Wade hated it, hated every noise, every quiver, knowing it was all the product of stupid biological imperatives and that this time next week Spidey would barely remember what had happened, much less appreciate it. But Wade… he would never be able to forget this. He wasn't sure he wanted to. No matter how much it hurt to know that this… could never happen again, still, he - he was too selfish, he still wanted Spidey, even if it was nothing more than a poor substitute for a consensual night of passion.

He would be gentle. He would lavish the webbed wonder with everything he had to give. And then, when Spider-Man’s heat was done, Wade would go, and never bring it up again. His relationship with Spidey - while not generally carnal in nature, remained one of the few bright points in Wade’s life, and he would never do anything to jeopardize that bond of friendship.

He just hoped Spidey would understand, and forgive him. If not...well. Maybe he would just travel the world again, visit exciting places, doing dirty jobs. It wouldn't fill the gaping wound in his chest, but as he curled his fingers, causing Spidey to yelp “Yes, yes, _god_ just like that, _fuck_ ,” he found himself suspecting that nothing ever would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Sorry for the delay, I've had a busy weekend. On the bright side, I've found a job! (yaaay!) Buuuut, it involves a 1.5 hour commute to get there, so that significantly cuts down on my writing time. I'll still be doing my best to keep these updates regular, but I appreciate your understanding as I figure out this new schedule. Thanks!


	8. Compatibility Check

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's heat is finally over, and Deadpool is gone without a word. Peter finds this oddly upsetting.

The next few days passed in a blur for Peter. He would have moments of respite - maybe an hour, sometimes as little as fifteen minutes - before the heat raged through him again. This time, though, was different from his high school heat, and Peter couldn’t for the life of him pinpoint why, exactly. He’d actually had a _crush_ on MJ at the time, and yet having her for his heat had been frankly awful. She’d been just what he absolutely couldn't survive without, and nothing more. He didn't blame her - she’d given up a lot to help him. But whatever she’d given him hadn't been _enough._

But this heat had been _different._ Peter had felt like more than an inconvenience, more than a problem to be solved. He’d felt… _valued._ Cherished. Desired. And not necessarily for what he could give or take, but every part of his heat, he felt safe, felt _wanted,_ like he didn't have to be desperately alone.

Sometimes, when the heat cramped his stomach, Wade would hold him and rub his abdomen until it felt better. Sometimes Wade would feed him, when he was too boneless and exhausted during a short respite to even feed himself.

Somewhere along the line, Peter had stopped calling him ‘Deadpool’ and started calling him ‘Wade’. It felt right, somehow. Whoever this gentle, protective, comforting provider of an Alpha was, he was a far cry from the crass, crude, inappropriate mercenary who seemed entirely too forward. Wade was hesitant, caring, and _oh_ , his _knot._ When Wade entered Peter for the first time it felt like every cell in his body stood up and sang. It was electrifying and more fulfilling than anything Peter had ever experienced - not that he’d experienced much of anything since high school…

Finally, his heat began to die down after five grueling days of knotting until he literally passed out from exhaustion only to wake mere hours later with his need roaring through his blood. As his senses returned to him, Peter was surprised to realize he didn't _want_ Wade to leave. But he couldn't exactly demand the mercenary stay, after all that Peter had put him through. Wade had been nothing but attentive, time and time again setting aside his own preferences and personal boundaries to help Peter.

He heard Wade talking to the voices in his head on the morning of the fifth day, his mind, while still bleary from the heat, just cognizant enough to hear the disgust and self reproach in Wade’s tone, though the words seemed to fade from his mind mere moments after he heard them. Everything seemed so fuzzy, each day, each moment blending into the next. Unlike his senior year heat, though, it wasn't a fog of pain, desperation, and helplessness. It was blur of gentle hands, soft touches, two bodies joined together as sweetly and effortlessly as if they were two halves of one whole.

When Peter regained his sensibility a bit more, the first thing he did was look for a bond mark, fearing that Wade had accidentally marked him - why else should he be feeling this way? But there was nothing. Only a growing sense of how fortunate Peter had been to have an Alpha like Wade follow him home, and not someone else.

Once Peter finally awoke from his first heat-free sleep in nearly six days, Wade was already gone. Peter didn't want to admit how much it hurt that Deadpool hadn't even bothered to say goodbye in person. Instead, the merc had left a note that said only, ‘Smells like you're done, if not, call me. Also there’s food in the fridge if you're hungry.’ It was signed with a simple caricature of Deadpool's mask.

Peter was starving, so he ate, though he couldn't taste the food. He felt at once incredibly satisfied and disappointed. He'd wanted to eat with Wade just once where he felt _normal_ again. He’d hoped to at least halfway transition back into a sort of professional working relationship. Now he had to figure out how to talk to Wade after...this. Peter felt like he’d learned a lot from the experience. He wasn't sure what it all meant just yet, only that he’d gained a lot of new information. He needed to talk it out, Peter realized. But not Aunt May - she was a Beta, for starters. She was also his _aunt._ He couldn't talk to her about something like _this._ He needed someone his own age. He needed… Peter grinned suddenly, grabbing his phone. He needed dinner. ~~~~ ~~~~

* * *

Gwen Stacy was eyeing Peter closely. “There's something different about you today,” she said thoughtfully, twisting her seafood alfredo linguini around her fork. She frowned at Peter. “What happened?”

“Well,” Peter started, and paused, glancing between two of his best friends. How was he going to explain that his heat suppressants had-

MJ snapped her fingers. “I got it!” she exclaimed, pointing a finger at him. “You got _laid_.”

Peter felt his heart skip a beat. “Oh my god MJ, not so loud!”

“Wait, really?” Gwen leaned forward, sounding like she was half in shock. She groaned, falling back in her seat dramatically. “Being a beta sucks sometimes.”

“The smell of ‘satisfied Omega’ is just _pouring_ off him,” MJ stage-whispered. “It’s almost rude. He's probably making other Omegas jealous.”

Peter buried his face in his hands. “Guys…” he moaned.

“At least now I know why I was collecting homework assignments and copying my notes for you, you sex fiend,” Gwen muttered darkly, but her heart wasn't in it. A smile cracked her features a moment later. “So? Who’s the person lucky enough to win the heart of Peter Parker?”

Peter stirred his tortellini awkwardly. “Well…the thing is, we haven't really talked about that, yet...” he felt his face begin to burn. “We were, uh, sort of friends before this thing, and I guess we're still friends? We were… occupied by...things. So we didn't really talk about anything.”

Mary-Jane paused, looking up from her parmesan chicken with a stricken look on her face. “Oh my god, Peter, tell me you didn't.” She sounded almost pleased. “A fling? I can't believe I’m hearing this from mister ‘Not until the tenth date’ himself!”

Peter felt his face begin to burn. “It’s not the number of the dates, it's the _quality_!” he protested.

“Oh-ho,” MJ crowed, “must have been some _quality_ friendship to qualify them for heat duty!” she followed this with a slow wink, nudging Gwen and pointing down to indicate the region between her legs.

Gwen shoved her lightly, mouthing ‘stop it,’ a fond smile crossing her features. She turned to Peter. “Have we met this mysterious friend of yours?”

Peter shook his head violently. “No, he’s, uh-” he cut himself off, clapping a hand to his mouth in a panic. He hadn't meant to reveal the gender of the person in question. Oh well. With a sigh, Peter continued. “He's nice, but, uh, we don't really operate in the same circles much. He was just, uh, convenient, I guess?” Peter was rambling now, and he could tell by the twin looks of disbelief on Gwen and MJs faces that they weren't buying it.

Gwen raised an eyebrow. “You let some person have you for a whole heat and not only are you two not _dating,_ you're barely acquaintances?” She stared at him closely. “Are you feeling all right, Peter? that seems very out-of-character for you.”

MJ nodded seriously, also turning to Peter. “Not that I don't dig it,” she said, “I mean, sex is pretty rad. You _should_ enjoy yourself.”

Peter pursed his lips, not wanting to go into the whole ‘heat sex isn't actually fun’ thing with her, mostly because _she’d_ been with him in heat, once, and he didn't want her to think he wasn't grateful. “I guess,” he said mildly.

“I’m sensing there’s more to the story,” Gwen said pointedly, eyes locked on the Omega.

Peter winced. “Well… it turns out my body had a weird reaction to my suppressants,” he said, “so my doctor took me off them.”

Gwen and MJ exchanged loaded glances. “You went off suppressants _after_ finding this friend of yours to help you through the heat, right?” Gwen asked.

Peter shook his head slowly.

“Peter!” MJ nearly exploded. “Don't you have any idea how _dangerous_ that is?”

Peter scowled. “I know, but-”

“No!” Gwen shot him down, “Peter, what were you _thinking?_ Why didn't you tell us what was going on? You could've _called_ us. Called Harry!”

Peter winced, trying to explain. “I didn't want to inconvenience-”

“Peter!” Gwen interrupted, “You've studied Biology, yes?”

“Of course, I’m majoring in Biochem and mechanical engineering,” Peter muttered.

Gwen sighed. “Then I shouldn't have to remind you that it's dangerous for you - physically! - to go through a heat _alone_ and suppressant free.”

“Not to mention the fact that you would have attracted every Alpha within a hundred yards right to your door,” MJ added. “I told you before, Peter, but maybe I wasn't clear enough. Your scent is really strong. It's not the sort of thing you just let loose.”

Peter covered his face. “I know, okay? Jeez.”

Gwen sighed, making a sympathetic face. “We aren't _angry,_ Peter, just _worried._ And, I guess, a little upset you didn't call us.”

Peter looked up, peering at her from between his fingers. “I didn't want to come between you two,” he tried to explain.

MJ laughed. “Peter, you don't have to worry about us,” she threw an arm around Gwen, who blushed happily at the obvious display of affection. “We’re rock-solid.” At this, she leaned forward with a smirk, stage whispering, “Just between you and me? She would’ve loved to watch.” she glanced at Gwen. “Right, love?”

Gwen tried to hide her blush by covering her face, “I plead the fifth,” she murmured, sounding embarrassed but not displeased.

MJ grinned. “We’re both pretty open to new things in this relationship, Tiger. You ever need a heat mate, Gwen and I will always be here for you.”

Peter nodded slowly, swallowing hard. He wasn't sure he _wanted_ another heat with MJ. Not if it was going to be anything like the first time. What he really wanted was… What it has been like with Wade. Feeling safe. Cherished. Comforted. He wanted Wade. The realization came like a bolt of lightning. He _really wouldn't mind another heat with Wade_. But would Wade want _him?_ The merc had been so hesitant at first that Peter had been forced to beg relentlessly. What evidence was there to indicate that Wade would ever want _Peter_ again?

A portion of his thought process must have shown on his face, because MJ leaned forward. “Peter? Is something wrong?”

Peter shook his head, then changed his mind. “I… yeah,” he said uncomfortably. “I think… I want to share my heat with that other friend again,” he explained miserably, “but I don't know how to tell him that without sounding like a selfish ass.”

MJ cocked an eyebrow. “How so?”

“I...ah...encountered him when my heat was just starting in earnest,” Peter explained, “And he followed me home?” He saw MJ’s features tighten, and he clarified. “He wasn't in rut! ...he was on blockers.” Peter figured it was close enough to the truth - Wade couldn't rut. Couldn't enjoy any part of their encounter, probably. Between the chronic pain and inability to rut… Peter felt his hands begin to shake. “I don't think he enjoyed it, I was a mess and he just had to take care of me and he couldn't even say no because I was too insistent,” he said, so quietly that Gwen and MJ leaned forward, straining to hear. “He hated it, probably.” Peter sighed heavily. “Probably hates _me_ now, too.”

“You should talk to him,” Gwen suggested. “Maybe he just reacted to the Omega scent differently than you expected. It doesn't mean he hated it.” She patted MJ’s arm softly. “Rut blockers are just as effective as suppressants,” she reminded Peter, “I’m sure if he’d wanted to walk away he could have.”

For a moment, Peter was tempted to believe that. Then he remembered the way Deadpool had protested at the beginning, the harsh self-deprecating tone he’d used towards the end. And Peter remembered, if only faintly, that conversation before things started getting too steamy. Even if Wade had liked being with Peter in some ways, he still couldn't rut. Couldn't get the same sense of completion that another Alpha could. It’s why he wanted Spidey more as an Alpha or Beta - because there would be no need to rut, no reason to bond, no disappointing reminder of the cancer that ruined his life. Peter’s being an Omega was the worst thing for Deadpool, Peter realized, swiping angrily at a tear that crept to the corner of his eye.

Gwen was at his side in an instant, arms around him, MJ joining them a moment later, grabbing Peter’s hands and squeezing them gently.

“Peter! Honey!” Gwen held him tight, “it’s okay! You'll be okay, shh now.”

MJ was patting his hands gently. “There there, Tiger, I promise it's not so bad as all that,” she murmured.

Peter took a shaky breath. “Sorry I’m such a mess,” he said, his voice wobbling. “I just… I think that I’m not really compatible with him?” his voice was high and reedy, and he couldn't seem to help it. “I just… I never felt a _connection_ like that before, I-”

“Did he bond with you?” Gwen asked anxiously.

Peter tugged down his collar, baring the side of his throat and giving them a peek at his collarbone. “No marks,” he said, “At least that I can see.”

MJ was sniffing carefully. “I don't smell a bond. Just satisfaction, nerves, and a little sadness.” She patted Peter’s shoulder comfortingly. “I’m sure it'll all turn out okay.”

Peter nodded shakily. “Yeah,” he agreed weakly, “I’m sure.” He wasn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me folks! I've officially run out of pre-written material, so expect some shorter chapters until i get more written ahead of schedule... Hopefully I'll maintain regular updates, that's always my goal. thanks for reading!


	9. A Promotion?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Peter finally returns to work at Stark Industry labs, he's in for a surprise...

The next day, Peter had to slink into Stark Tower and apologize to Daniel and Kurt for the whole heat fiasco. “Hey,” he said weakly, sliding up to the security desk.

Daniel glanced up, his eyes widening slightly. “Parker,” he said gruffly.

Kurt grinned. “It's good to have you back, I heard you were out sick?”

Peter grimaced. “Yeah, there were… complications,” he said weakly. He fumbled the bag he'd brought, dropping it on the desk with an awkward _thump_. “I, uh, brought you guys some coffee, and muffins,” he said weakly, “I’m really sorry about last week.”

Kurt shrugged. “Shit happens, Pete. It’s good to see you back.” He leaned forward with a whisper. “I heard the boss was even asking after you personally.”

Peter felt his throat constricted a little. “Mister Stark?” he said weakly. “About my - er - sickness?”

Kurt shrugged. “I couldn't say, I just heard it from the grapevine.”

Peter nodded nervously. Stark had sent him to a clinic and he’d never gone inside. Did Stark _know_ ? How much did he know? Would he discover Peter’s other identity? Peter was here to lose himself in his scientific research, not worry about whether or not his boss had discovered his secret identity. Plus, he had to think about a new suppressant for his heat - something that would work despite his healing factor. It would be a challenge, but fortunately he was working at a lab with some of the world's most cutting-edge technology. What if this heat had somehow jeopardized that? He could lose _everything ,_  all because of a healing factor gone haywire!

He tried to shake off his nerves, entering the laboratory and greeting one or two of the other workers in the lab. He got a few “welcome back”s, a couple of knowing winks, and a few jealous sighs. He hurried over to his workbench. First of all, he needed to build a stronger “Peter” scent to counter the scent Deadpool now associated with Spidey. The Merc was entirely too unpredictable, and Peter needed to ensure that his secret identity wouldn't be compromised by Deadpool’s keen sense of smell. You never knew where the merc might turn up, and that worried him.

He had to craft something sufficiently different from the scent-blocking suit, too, or that might end up making Deadpool equally suspicious. He sighed in irritation. Why did things have to get so _complicated?_ He had three things to work on now - a new form of suppressant, a new scent disguise, and he also had to work on the project Stark had given him. It was interesting work, analyzing how certain chemical structures found in nature could be reconstructed or combined to create new structures.

It reminded him a lot of Doctor Connors’ research at Midtown university, but without the potential for self-experimentation. After all, Peter wasn't exactly looking to regenerate any of his limbs. He pulled out his work and sighed - none of the other assistants had bothered to cover for him. Wearily, he began marking samples useless and salvaging what he could, going over his notes in painstaking detail. He was just getting absorbed in the task of scratching out samples and citing the reason scrapped in the margins when he was startled by a booming voice from behind.

“Ah, Parker, I was hoping I might find you here,” came the voice of none other than the Billionaire Genius Playboy Philanthropist himself, striding across the lab to see Peter.

Peter stiffened, snapping his lab journal shut. “Sir,” he said weakly, “I can explain the absences, you see-”

“I’m not here about that, you're a kid, you gotta live a little,” Stark said dismissively, and although that _wasn't_ how Peter saw it, it was an assumption he wasn't afraid to let slide. “I wanted to talk with you about your current project, the, uh...structural analysis and recomposition.”

Peter nodded slowly. “It’s… a bit slow-going,” he confessed.

“Unsurprising,” Tony said. “I saw a note you wanted to potentially use these structures to aid in robotics and other mechanical production work?”

“I’m studying both subjects, mister Stark, and I think the project has a lot of potential in biotech,” Peter explained.

“So do I,” the wealthy inventor said. “That's why I'm bringing you upstairs.”

Peter blinked. “Upstairs?”

“I want to keep a close eye on the project, see how it pans out,” Stark explained. “But I loathe making the trek down to the basement level, it's just creepy down here,” he glanced around with an exaggerated shudder, “So instead of coming to you, I’m bringing you to me.” he gestured to Peter’s desk. “Get that cleaned up and be ready to move upstairs tomorrow,” he said, handing Peter an envelope. “You'll be getting a pay raise to reflect the change in location.” He ruffled Peter’s hair then, which felt downright patronizing. “And no more benders,” he added. “I didn't hire you to skip weeks of work at a time, so figure something out.” He paused then, “or at least get a doctor’s note.”

Peter nodded jerkily. “Yes sir, mister Stark,” he said. _Guess I’ll be needing that suppressant substitute sooner than I thought..._

Stark smiled at that. “Jarvis calls me sir. Maybe stick to mister Stark. Or Ironman.”

“Yes s- sure thing, mister Stark,” Peter managed weakly.

“Good man,” Stark said approvingly before marching back across the laboratory, his footsteps echoing in the near-silence. “I'll be seeing you tomorrow, Parker!” he called over his shoulder, “I’m expecting great things from you! Great things!” With this final encouragement (or was it a threat?), Stark sailed out of the lab, ostensibly bound for wherever “upstairs” was.

Peter stared dumbly at the envelope in his hand. He felt like he had whiplash, considering he'd half-expected Stark to fire him… With trembling fingers, he worked open the envelope, withdrawing the enclosed papers nervously. As he did so, he heard the first murmurs of dismay begin trickling into his ears from around the room. Some of the people had been working down here for years, Peter knew. It had to be frustrating to watch what probably felt rightly theirs get snatched up by a young buck who had just taken a week off because he couldn't keep it in his pants.

When Peter looked at the contents of the envelope, it included a bonus that was bigger than an entire year’s worth of freelance checks from the Bugle. Another paper told him where he could find his new lab, what floor it was on, which area was his designated workspace, et cetera. There was a new security access card and a sheet of paper detailing the exact amount to expect for his annual salary after the pay increase. The number had so many zeroes that it made Peter feel dizzy. He spent the rest of the day in a daze, organizing and packing up his desk in preparation for the move “upstairs”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm so late!!! D: D: (and that it's so short... >.<;)  
> I've been very very busy and also very very ill lately (not a great combination), and I haven't had the time I needed to really work on this fic. I'm hoping that I'll be able to update again soon, but please be patient with me in the meantime! I'm not planning on abandoning the fic, I just might need a bit more time in between updates... Thanks again for reading and your kind comments!


	10. Successfully Communicating a Vaguely Reliable Cover Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Parker struggles to maintain his secret identity under closer scrutiny at Stark laboratories.

Spider-Man got in some good hero work that night, after Peter Parker spent some overtime getting all of his things in order for the move “upstairs”. He did not, however, see Deadpool. Part of him was glad - it would have been an awkward reunion, to say the least. Another part of him was disappointed. He wanted to see Deadpool, wanted to _talk,_ to work things out and figure out what, if anything, had changed between them. But he had no such luck that night, or the next night, or the night after.

He waited at some of ‘their spots’, hoping to catch Deadpool there, even found himself hanging around some of the mercenary’s usual haunts, but without success. It seemed the merc with a mouth had skipped town, or was being very intentional about avoiding the hero. Peter tried to push down the frustration he felt at that, and threw himself into his work at Stark labs - his project that Stark wanted to keep a close eye on, and also his own, personal project - a new suppressant.

He knew that there was some sort of hormone reaction that an Alpha’s presence was able to trigger that helped an omega calm down, and he wondered if that was introduced early enough into the heat if it might function similar to a bond, which could allow for a safe and mild heat. He wasn’t sure if there was a way to actually stop the heat, not without the same chemical structure that had been used before, but he hoped that the artificial pheromones he was synthesizing might at least make his heat _easier._ He also began developing scent blockers. They wouldn’t keep him from feeling the effect of his heat, but hopefully with the Alpha hormones reducing the symptoms, and a scent blocker to prevent Alphas from going into rut around him, he could make it through his heat without needing to take a week off from school and work. Especially with the additional attention “upstairs”, Peter felt more paranoid than ever. He couldn’t give Stark a reason to suspect that the ‘nerdling’ working on his pet project had anything to hide, for fear of what an investigation might reveal. Being Spider-Man and trying to maintain a secret identity while working alongside a notoriously nosy Avenger wasn’t high on his list of ‘fun relaxing things to do in your spare time’.

And then there was Deadpool. Or more specifically, there _wasn’t_ Deadpool. And Peter missed him. He _knew_ they hadn’t bonded, there hadn’t been any bite marks and while the other man had knotted him, he’d been very careful to limit his Alpha commands. So Peter was at a loss to explain on a physiological level why he felt so drawn to Deadpool. Psychologically though, Peter knew he felt indebted to a man who could have so easily taken advantage of him and _didn’t_ . He’d let Peter continue to hide his identity, cared for him, given him what he needed without expecting anything in return. It was a level of selflessness and care of which Peter was ashamed to admit he hadn’t considered Deadpool capable. And now that he’d seen that side of Deadpool, he wanted to see _more_ of him. It was frustrating beyond words to _not_ see him. He hadn’t realized how much he appreciated his witty repartee, his constant, borderline annoying presence, and that despite his crass exterior, Deadpool had brought a surprising amount of enjoyment to Peter’s life. Not seeing him was disconcerting, and left him feeling off-balance, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It dropped when Peter least expected. He was in the middle of some experiments for Stark’s pet project when he heard the sound of someone running headlong into the wall. Normally this happened when a lab tech got over-stressed and forgot where the door was. The walls were all glass and rigorously cleaned, so they were hard to see through sleep-clouded eyes. Two sets of automatic doors were set into the glass walls, but they were so subtle that one could easily confuse the location of them if busy or stressed. Which, unsurprisingly, most of the nerdlings upstairs qualified as both of those things on a regular basis.

So the occasional face-plant into the wall, expecting an automatic door, was a fairly normal occurrence. Peter glanced up to see who had walked into the wall this time - Johnson held the upstairs record of sixteen - and felt his heart stutter to a stop.

It was a red-spandex clad man with two swords strapped to his back and various other weapons streapped to other parts of his body. He appeared to be plastered up against the glass willingly, and waving as if to say  “let me in!”

Of course, no one wanted to be the lab tech who gave Deadpool access to Tony Stark’s top secret projects and laboratories. Deadpool drew a sword, seemed to consider the wall thoughtfully, and begin hacking at the glass. It was reinforced, but his swords still managed to make the most awful nails-on-chalkboard scraping noises when they connected, and after several minutes of this, most of the lab techs were looking at each other frantically. No one wanted to be the one to get in trouble, but no one wanted it to continue, either.

Peter figured that if he told Deadpool to go away the merc might listen - or he wouldn’t listen and Tony Stark could chew him out, but surely Ironman would understand why a nerdling like Peter would get nervous around an agitated Deadpool and might try to appease him. He walked to the door, opening it and poking his head out, glancing down the hall to where Deadpool appeared to be writing the zorro ‘Z’ on the glass. “Um… mister sword guy?” he called weakly.

Deadpool stopped mid-slash. “Oh, hey, someone actually opened the door? Usually they just call security.”

Peter grimaced. Right. That would have been a better option, probably.

His recrimination must have shown on his face, because Deadpool threw his head back and laughed. “Well, you’ll remember that for next time, anyway.” He marched over, sheathing his katanas as he approached. “Aren’t you a pretty thing,” he commented blithely, getting entirely too close for Peter’s comfort. Peter was wearing his artificial scent, and while he’d been testing the scent blocker, it seemed as though he was still putting off _some_ scent, despite it being reduced. He felt a sudden surge of panic. _Deadpool_ couldn’t _know his secret identity_.

As if Deadpool had read his mind, he leaned closer to Peter and inhaled deeply. “Strange,” he commented, tilting his head a little as he considered Peter. “You smell like someone I know.”

“I don’t think we really run in the same circles, sir,” Peter stammered, wringing his hands, not really needing to pretend to be overwhelmed and terrified because _god dammit why here, why now?_

Deadpool cackled at this too. “Probably not…” he bent down, reaching out a hand to tilt Peter’s ID badge, “Peter.” He inhaled again. “But I _do_ know that scent. This may be a personal question, so let’s take it outside,” he wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders and guided him out into the hallway. “Now be honest,” he said, “Are you an omega?”

Peter swallowed hard. “Um,” he said, “I am, I mean, don’t I smell like one?” _Like a fake omega scent that I spray on every morning to throw off my scent so Spider-Man and Peter Parker don’t smell alike._

Wade hummed, leaning his head over to inhale deeply. “Yeah, I guess you do,” he decided, arm still wrapped around Peter’s shoulders. “You smell like Spider-Man, too.”

Peter stiffened at that, which was fine for the response he’d practiced in the mirror hundreds of times since he first donned the mask. “I don’t know anything about Spider-Man, I just take his picture. I can’t tell you anything about him.”

Deadpool froze. “You take his picture?”

Peter nodded jerkily. “I freelance for the Daily Bugle.”

Deadpool nodded slowly, inhaling deeply. “God, I miss him,” he muttered to himself, so quiet that Peter almost didn’t hear him. Probably wouldn’t have heard him if it weren’t for his enhanced senses. “So you snap photos of that spectacular ass?”

“Um,” Peter felt his cheeks begin to burn, as this was a topic he was not especially comfortable with, “I kind of try to catch him in action?”

“Hot damn, am I right?” Deadpool practically leered. Peter wasn’t sure how he managed it in a full face mask, but he did, and it was pretty skeevy.

“Oh yeah, um, sure, if you’re into Omegas I guess,” Peter said weakly. “Lately he’s been a little… depressed? I guess.” He tried to think of how to twist this in such a way that _maybe_ Deadpool would consider actually speaking to Spider-Man again. And also explain away why Peter Parker smelled like Spider-Man and also another artificial omega. “When I asked Spider-Man about it today he just said a friend of his kind of dropped off the radar, so maybe that’s why he’s been feeling so lousy lately. I gave him a hug to try and cheer him up, and I think it worked.” Peter made a face as if he’d suddenly realized something. “That’s probably why I smell like him.”

“Oh my god, he let you hug him?” Deadpool practically squealed, completely missing the point that Peter was trying to make, and squeezing Peter so hard that he almost heard a rib crack.

Peter winced. “Anyway, can I go back to work now?”

Deadpool released him. “Oh sure, yeah, I was just coming to bother Iron britches, he’s always so easy to irritate when I bother his employees -”

“Yes, Wilson, I do get irritated when you mack on my employees and carve obscene phrases into my glass walls,” Tony Stark called from down the hall, striding purposefully towards the two of them.

“Stark! Long time no see! I’ve been out in the jungles looking for - well, it’s not really any of your business, but anyway, I’m back in town now and I couldn’t not pop in for a quick chat!” Deadpool jumped forward, approaching Stark in a way that made it look like he was considering hugging the billionaire too.

Stark lifted a hand. “Do not touch me or I _will_  have you tossed out on your ear.”

Deadpool sighed. “Can I hug _him_?” he indicated Peter.

“Don’t manhandle my employees either,” Stark grumbled. “What are you _really_ doing here, Deadpool?”

“Look, I’m just here to hang out, and also maybe talk to the avengers about a - a thing I _may_ have found in a jungle,” Deadpool said coyly.

“Great. You don’t need to be in my labs for that, come with me,” Stark moved towards Deadpool, then past him. He paused briefly next to Peter, and sighed. “Sorry it took me so long to get here. Way to keep your cool under pressure. He’s mostly harmless, except for the unhinged mercenary part. In future you might want to stay in the lab and just call security.” he reached over and tweaked Peter’s nose, smirking. “Keep up the good work.”

“Will do, Mister Stark,” Peter replied weakly. Then, “It was nice to meet you, Mister, uh, Deadpool.”

Deadpool took a quick bow before trotting after Tony Stark, tossing a, “Nice to meet you  too, cutie!” over his shoulder. Stark smacked him upside the head, and Deadpool yelped in mock pain, and then the two of them turned a corner and were gone.

Peter felt like all the strength melted from his legs and he just sat down in the middle of the hallway for a minute. He’d done it. He’d navigated talking to Deadpool as Peter Parker without accidentally revealing his identity to the man. He’d also managed to not get fired by Tony Stark for opening the door of the lab to an unhinged mercenary. All in all, a successful day.

Finally, Peter made his way back into the lab and tried to get back to work. It was surprisingly difficult to focus, which was a shame, as he decided it might be a better idea to work on his own project, the alpha hormone heat minimizer. Perhaps if he’d been less distracted, he might have noticed an unusual reaction in some of the simulations he ran on the computer. But it was a very small deviation, and easily dismissed if you weren’t paying incredibly close attention to minutiae. Unfortunately, Peter would soon learn that even tiny, insignificant details could spell disaster for him and those he cared about the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally wrote this in like 45 minutes and it probably reads as utter garbage so I am sorry for that.  
> But hey, it's technically an update, so at least progress is being made.  
> Also, the commission I've been writing for like three months now is almost completed, so maybe after that I'll be able to write more (except I'll be starting school then so HAHA NOPE NOT LIKELY).
> 
> Thanks so much for all your support! I appreciate my readers so much and I'm glad you're still enjoying this story!


	11. He hates me, he hates me not, he hates me, he hates m...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool angsts about Peter. Peter angsts about Deadpool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dark themes in this one, friends. Steer clear if you're not into very overt Suicide themes.

Wade Wilson was _not_ moping. Really, he wasn't. He didn't do that sort of thing anyway, mope. Please. He had better things to do with his time, like binge on chimichangas while drinking cinnamon-swirled vanilla milkshakes and watching Golden Girls reruns.

**_You do realize this is pretty much the definition of moping, right?_ ** White pointed out.

“Shut up and let me enjoy my horchata-inspired dairy beverage,” Wade grumbled around a mouthful of chimichanga.

**I can't believe you're still hiding from Spider-Man,** Yellow complained. **Isn't the whole reason you came back here was because you were ready to talk to him again?**

“I thought I was ready!” Wade protested, setting his milkshake aside and sitting upright. “Then I got back and realized I'm nowhere fucking near ready.”

**Damn,** Yellow complained, **I was looking forward to seeing more of that ass. And sass.**

Wade sighed, slumping back against the couch as he turned off the TV. He wasn’t hearing any of it anyway, and Bea Arthur deserved better. “What am I supposed to do, go looking for him? Throw myself at his feet and beg his forgiveness?”

**_What have_ ** **you** **_done that needs forgiving?_ ** White countered. **_He threw_ ** **himself** **_at_ ** **you** ** _. You didn’t do anything wrong_** **.**

Wade rose to his feet, grabbing a knife and waving it threateningly in the air. “Bullshit,” he snapped. “You know that there are plenty of things I could have done--”

**Like what?** Yellow interrupted.

Wade opened his mouth, thought for a minute, and pursed his lips. “Hmm.” He thought a little more before sitting back down on his couch, cradling his head in his hands. “Fuck. If I were smarter, it would be easier to argue this point.”

**_If you were_** **right** **_about this, it would be easier to argue this point_** **,** White countered.

**Aren’t we usually the ones telling you you’re fucked up?** Yellow pointed out. **This feels uncomfortably like a role reversal and I don’t like it.**

Wade barked a laugh. “Fuck, I’ve always hated myself, I never needed your help to see that.” He stood once more, stalking across the room. He took a few laps around his living room, just sort of wallowing in his own self-loathing before realizing he was still brandishing the knife. He eyed it thoughtfully, then sighed, tucking it back into its sheath. “Still. I could have done _more_. What I did was take advantage of an Omega, and making excuses for something like that is one hell of a slippery slope.”

**He was literally asking for it, though…** Yellow pointed out hesitantly.

“That’s not relevant, he was under the influence,” Wade countered. “He had no impulse control, he would have asked _anyone_.” He shuddered a little. “Which is why he fucking asked me. I mean, let’s be real here, I have a face that would turn even the most iron stomachs.”

**_Fair,_ ** White acknowledged. **_I grudgingly admit you have a point there. If Spidey was willing to sleep with you he probably would have slept with literally any Alpha at all. Guess you were just lucky!_ **

“God fucking _dammit_ ,” Wade snarled, “Raping someone isn’t _lucky_. It’s fucking gross, and I did it to one of the few people in my life who had yet to cut me off completely.”

**_Jeez,_ ** White commented, **_I forgot for a minute what a loser you are. Thanks for the reminder._ **

Wade wanted to scream. “Are you being intentionally dense?” he yelled. “Spidey hates me!”

**I bet he doesn’t,** Yellow posited. **You hate you, and you’re projecting that onto Spider-Man. Plus that was some really good sex he got from you, so I’m sure it’s fine.**

At this point Wade was seriously regretting coming back to New York so soon. He’d had almost this exact conversation countless times in the last week or two, and always it came back to White and Yellow making bullshit excuses while Wade argued futilely about how fucking gross it was to be a rape apologist. Then White and Yellow would keep coming at him relentlessly, refusing to shut up until he did something self-destructive enough to keep them quiet for a few hours. There was something incredibly satisfying about the few seconds of blessed silence after the _pop_ of a pistol going off in your own skull. That was probably the most fucking morbid thing he’d thought in a long time, but that’s just where he was at right now. Everything fucking sucked and even dying was getting to be a chore. And still the boxes wouldn’t fucking leave him be.

Wade stared at the pistol in his hand, not sure when he’d grabbed it and raised it to his temple. Rather than pulling the trigger, he lowered it slowly, staring at the gun. Fuck. This was bullshit. He really was a coward. It was easier to keep going around in circles with the boxes, hating himself to death only to revive and repeat ad nauseum. Finding Spidey and talking to him about what had happened between them? The mere thought was fucking terrifying. Because the idea of being rejected by one of the few people who seemed to give him the time of day was so much worse than rejecting himself. He called himself horrible things all the time. Hearing those words come from Spidey’s mouth - rapist, pervert, freak, monster… it just might break him, and _god_ he was fucking scared of what that would do to him.

Wade closed his eyes, putting the gun away. Fuck.

**_You know what you have to do,_ ** White said.

“Fuck off,” Wade growled, but White was right. He knew exactly what he had to do.

* * *

Peter knew he was acting pathetic, just sort of sitting around pining on the edge of a building where he and Deadpool would meet sometimes. God, he just wanted to see Wade. It wasn’t a sex thing - at least, he didn’t think it was? He just wanted to _talk_ , to clear the air, and well, clarify what sort of relationship they would have moving forward. Peter was pretty okay with the idea of friends with benefits, a concept that until recently had never really appealed to him. But he wasn’t sure how Wade would react to that sort of proposal. Would that seem too clingy, for Peter to bring it up right away?

Peter shook his head hard, trying to clear it. He needed to _stop_ thinking about Deadpool. What had happened had happened, and at this point, it seemed clear that Deadpool wasn’t interested in pursuing anything further with Spider-Man. Especially since he’d gone and flirted with some random techie in Tony Stark’s labs. For reasons he couldn’t fully express, Peter was pissed off about that. Like he was simultaneously pleased that he’d gotten Wade’s attention and also furious that Deadpool hadn’t seen it important to visit Spider-Man as soon as he’d gotten back into town.

He was avoiding Peter, that much was obvious. But it sucked, especially since Peter had been living each day since his heat wondering how _terrible_ of a lover he must have been to chased away someone as lecherous as Deadpool. Admittedly, the man was not nearly as sex-crazed as he pretended to be, but still… Peter found himself feeling even _more_ insecure about himself than before. After all, waking up from a heat-fuelled haze only to realize the Alpha you’d spent it with had already gone was horrible. It was like a subtle hint that you were so reprehensible to the alpha that he couldn’t stand to be with you any longer than was absolutely necessary. Peter felt like he’d become something of a week-long burden to Wade. He managed to push the thoughts down during the day, especially with how busy he’d become over at Stark Laboratories. But late at night, when his body cried out for rest after a long eve of vigilantism, sleep continued to elude him. Instead, Peter found himself plagued by the thought that even _Deadpool_ couldn’t stand to be with him any longer than was absolutely necessary. God, Peter was a loser.

Peter found himself mired in similar thoughts now, perched on the corner of a building in the darkest, most hellish area of Queens, staring out at the night and wondering how the hell things had gone wrong so goddamn _fast_.

“Holy fuck, I forgot how sexy that ass looks in the moonlight,” crowed a voice from behind Peter.

In a typical twist of fate, Peter found that now that Wade _had_ found him, he had no idea how to react. He turned around slowly. “Deadpool.”

The spandex-clad mercenary’s shoulders slumped a little as he trotted over, plopping down next to Peter. “Right, so that’s how we’re playing it, then?” he said hesitantly.

Peter wasn’t sure what the merc meant by that, so he chose to ignore it, instead focusing on one of the burning questions in his mind. “What’s been keeping you?”

Deadpool chuckled nervously, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ve been out of the country on… business? I guess.” He shrugged. “I heard some interesting rumors, so I headed out to the deep jungles of South America.” Deadpool gestured as he spoke, though he seemed to be acutely aware of Peter, never once entering his personal space as he did so. It seemed incredibly off, as Wade had never seemed to worry about that sort of thing in the past. “While I was checking things out, I accidentally stumbled across some sort of Hydra pharmaceutical development center and ended up their hostage for a few days before they fucked up and I got out.” He grinned then, a minute expression beneath his mask, but Peter knew him well enough by now to know when the merc was smiling. “Let’s just say they won’t be conducting any more illegal human trials anytime soon.”

Peter still didn’t approve of Deadpool’s proclivity for indiscriminate murder, but he had to admit he couldn’t really fault the hired killer in this case. “That’s good to know.”

Wade continued, a hint of forced cheer entering his tone. “How about you, Spidey? Anything interesting happening in your neck of the woods?”

Peter closed his eyes momentarily. He wanted to ask, ‘was it really that bad?’. Instead, the words coming out of his mouth were “Nah, just the same old creeps you always find here in New York.”

Deadpool nodded, making a light “hmm” sound. The silence between them dragged on for an uncomfortably long pause, especially considering one of them was _known_ for his inability to keep quiet. They stared not at each other but out at the city sprawled below them for what seemed like an eternity, and Peter could _feel_ a question building in his chest, demanding to be released. Finally, he opened his mouth, turning to Deadpool as he did so.

The merc turned to look at him also.

In unison, each asked the other the same question.

“ _Do you hate me now?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm not dead!  
> It turns out my job didn't end in october like I expected. Downside to this was that I had already found a second job that started in october?? So I've been working two jobs (50 hours) and also attending school. So anyway I basically died.  
> I actually have a day off now (you heard me right, one day per week off, and it isn't even a weekend day), and I was supposed to be writing a research essay, but I took an hour-long break to churn out a chapter for this poor neglected fic.
> 
> Anyway, hope yall enjoy, hopefully the next chapter will be in before christmas. Happy Halloween, everyone!


	12. It's the Start of Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Wade finally have a heart-to-heart about what went down during the heat incident. They come to a mutually beneficial decision.

Peter stared wide-eyed at Deadpool, scarcely able to contain his shock. Why did the Merc sound so... regretful? What did _he_ have to feel bad about? He realized that Deadpool seemed equally baffled by his statement. They stood like that for a moment, the cool wind of the night whipping around them, whispering of shared passion, unfounded fears, and the courage to stand and speak your mind. Finally, Peter opened his mouth to try again.

“I don't-”

“Why the _fuck_ -” 

Peter broke off, chuckling weakly. Why did it have to be like this? God, it was awkward trying to talk to him when all he wanted to know was _what's so wrong with me that you had to run all the way to a remote jungle region?_ “You first,” he said, gesturing in Wade's direction.

Wade twisted his hands together like he was wringing out an invisible dishrag, shoulders hunched. It didn't seem possible, but the large, aggressive alpha actually looked  _small_ and almost  _pathetic_. The sight twisted into Peter like a pain, and he wasn't even sure why, but he didn't  _like_ it. It didn't feel right to see Wade so cowed, so nervous, so distraught. “'Do you hate me'?" Wade echoed, looking at Peter like he couldn't quite make out the figure before him. "Why would you ask me that?” he demanded. “If anyone here should hate someone, it should be _you_ hating _me_!”

That particular statement did not sit well with Peter. Not at _all_. “Well I _don't_ hate you,” Peter told him matter-of-factly, “but if you don't mind my saying, I think I have every right to wonder. I mean, if you don't hate me, then why did you _leave_ like that?” 

Deadpool’s hands dropped weakly to his sides. “What do you mean?” he asked weakly. “Leave? You don't mean…” he shook his head, like he was trying to shake off unhelpful advice. Which, considering who this was, it's entirely possible that's what he was doing. "You mean you  _wanted_ me to stay? Why? What good would that have done?"

 For a moment, Peter felt a flash of white-hot rage. What _good?_ Well for one thing, he wouldn't have felt like a pathetic loser who minipulated his friend into fucking him. The painful reminder,quickly morphed from anger to shame, and Peter felt his shoulders hunch defensively. “I thought you left because you didn't _want_ me,” he said, fighting to keep his voice level. He splayed a hand across his chest, continuing earnestly. “I thought I must have been nothing but a burden to you, that you couldn't even enjoy-” his voice broke and he stopped there, gulping down several breaths of air. “What did I do wrong?” he asked miserably, hanging his head, feeling like a deflated party balloon. God, this was the worst. He should just go before things got even more awkward. 

“What did _you_ do wrong?” Wade repeated, taking a step forward before faltering, his shuffling against the floor. “Nothing,” he said in a low, strained voice. “It wasn't you who did something wrong, it was _me._ ” He reached out as if to touch Peter’s face, his fingers freezing, trembling, inches from Peter’s cheek. “I was the one who - I took advantage of you! I wasn't in rut, had no reason to be there except to fulfill my own filthy desires at your expense! I used you!”

Peter stared back at him. “I didn't feel used until you left,” he said coldly.

Wade withdrew his hand like he’d been burned. “Fuck,” he said. He turned as if to walk away, then stopped, stiffening like he was listening to a voice only he could hear. That’s probably exactly what was happening, Peter realized. 

“That heat... it was good, for me,” he said quickly, awkwardly. How did you tell someone that it was the best fucking sex of your life and it made you feel like maybe, just maybe, heats weren't a curse to be endured but a chance to let go, and feel safe and protected? That he understood for the first time what a heat was supposed to be like, that it was the only time he hadn't felt afraid just because he was an omega? He couldn't find the words to say any of it, so he stumbled over his words, settling for a lame, “It just hurt, to wake up and find no one there.” He touched his face then, briefly. How could he put into words how Wade had made him feel? Safe. Valued. Protected. Respected. He remembered then, one of the things that had remained with him even in the aftermath of his heat. Wade had never betrayed his trust, not once. “You didn’t take off the mask.”

Wade turned back around. “No,” he said hesitantly, “I didn’t.” The air felt heavy, like he could sense that Peter was trying to put more meaning into the sentence than the mere words he'd spoken. He sounded hopeful, but also confused, like he couldn't interpret the meaning behind what Peter was desperately trying to say.

 “Thank you,” Peter said, even though it wasn't close to what he was trying to say. He took a step forward, reaching towards Wade. “For everything.” He pursed his lips, trying to put into words how he’d felt, to really explain to Wade why the time they'd shared was so important to him, why leaving him to wake up alone at the end had wrecked him. “I’ve never…" God that sounded pathetic. He tried again. "I always hated my heats… but this time,” he took another step, begging Wade to understand what he couldn't seem to put into the right words. “It was different with you.”

Wade stiffened, inhaling sharply. “Say that again,” he half-whispered, a tremble in his tone.

Did he understand? Could he see the meaning beyond the words Peter was speaking? “What did all of it mean to you?” Peter demanded, almost frantic. _Please understand me. Please_. “Because to me, it was… incredible.”

Wade passed a hand across his masked features, “Shit, Spidey, it was the best fuckin’ thing that ever happened to me. _You’re_ the best thing that ever happened to me. You know that.”

_Do I_ _?_ Peter wondered furiously. It sure hadn't felt that way when he'd woken up, exhausted and emotionally drained with nothing but a fucking note to comfort him. “If that's how you feel, then why did you run?” Peter demanded hoarsely, hearing his voice break and wincing. God, he sounded pathetic. No wonder Wade had walked out on him. 

Wade stiffened, then stomped forward, pushing up in Peter's face. “I left because I was fucking terrified!" Wade snarled, hands curling into fists as he hunched his shoulders defensively. “I  _used_ you, and it wasn't enough! I wanted more, but I know I don’t deserve you and there’s no way in hell you could ever reciprocate-”

“Maybe you should leave that decision to _me_ ,” Peter snarled back, stalking forward until they stood nearly eye-to-eye. “Because hot damn, Wade, whatever that was, I can’t imagine anything better.” He poked Wade in the chest with his index finger. “It was _good_ , all right? Amazing, even. You don’t deserve _me_? I don’t deserve _you_. It was unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.” He pulled his finger back, suddenly unable to look Wade in the eye. “It was the first time I’ve ever felt _safe_ when I was in heat.” 

Wade’s chest heaved with each breath, the air whooshing in and out of him like a bellows. He said nothing for a long minute. “Damn,” he said then, “Who fuckin’ hurt you, baby boy?”

 “It’s not like that,” Peter protested quickly, “I’ve just… people I care about die, all right? I never really had a mate, and having a mate is… scary. I can’t lose anyone else, and I’ve never found anyone that made me feel safe, just… scared. Uncomfortable. Like a burden.” he felt his shoulders dip as sudden exhaustion seemed to drape over him like a heavy blanket. “When I woke up and you weren’t there, it was like every other time I had to find someone to take me when I couldn’t take care of myself. Like I was a problem to be solved. An unwanted responsibility.” His voice was shaking so hard he could barely get the words out through his tight throat. “I never wanted to be that to you, or to anyone else, ever again.”

“Shit,” Wade said suddenly, surging forward to grab Peter’s hands. “Spidey, I never knew - if I thought that was how you felt, I wouldn’t have run off. I would never have left you there.” He let go of one hand to cradle his own face. “Fuck, I thought… I thought you’d never want to see me again. I used you, Spidey. Used your heat to get what I wanted, with no thought for you whatsoever.”

“Bullshit!” Peter snarled suddenly, tugging his hand out of Wade’s grip to step back and point at him. “I’ve been with other alphas, Wade. It fucking _sucked._ ” He sighed. “It’s not even like they were _cruel_ , they were my _friends_. But you were so much more attentive, so careful, so…” he felt a whine build up in his throat. “So _good_ to me. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before, and then you just _ran_ , and I was so afraid that everything I’d felt meant _nothing_ to you!” 

Wade swallowed hard, and for a moment the two of them just stared at each other, breathing heavily. “What you...felt?” Wade repeated softly.

Peter nodded slowly. “Wade, I…” he reached up for his mask, taking a deep breath. He started to tug it up, away from his face.

Wade surged forward,  grabbing Peter’s hand before he could finish. “Wait, wait, fuck, Spidey, dammit, you know I want this more than anything, fucking shit, hell!” his grip was tight on Peter’s arm. “Are you _sure_? This is huge. This isn’t a lingering attachment?” He froze. “You didn’t… we didn’t… I can’t mate anyone. This isn’t that, right?”

Peter released his mask slowly. “No,” he said exasperatedly. “It’s not. But I’m insulted that you’d think so.”

Wade whined. “I wanted you to be sure!”

“Yeah, well, I _was_ sure,” Peter snapped, feeling frustration bubble up in him. “Now I’m not.”

Wade swallowed hard. “Wait, what?”

Peter sighed, he hated to admit defeat, but… “You’re probably right,” he said. “Just because you’ve been on my mind for the past few weeks doesn’t mean that I should just throw myself at your feet.”

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Wade whimpered, “I never thought I’d hear anything resembling those words outside my dreams.”

Peter felt his patience growing shorter by the second. "You still haven't. Jeez. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder, but I'm quickly remembering how annoying you can be." He sighed, stepping back and pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to center himself emotionally before continuing. “I guess what I’m trying to say is,” Peter gestured to his mask demonstratively. “I’m willing. At some point. To do this. Seriously.” He folded his arms, trying not to sound defensive. “Are you interested in… this?”

“If by ‘this’ you mean all of you then hell yes,” Wade said quickly. “Are you asking me out? Propositioning me? Asking me to mate you? Because the answer is yes, yes to all of it, fuck yes.” He froze then. “Fuck.”

Peter felt his heart lurch. “What?”

“You’re right,” Wade said slowly. “We need to take our time. There’s… just a lot of shit for me to deal with.”

“Yeah,” Peter said slowly, “I’m in a similar situation.”

“But you’re willing to try?” Wade asked, voice small.

“If you are,” Peter agreed.

“Oh my god, I thought you’d never ask,” Wade whispered.

“Good,” Peter said, and moved to the edge of the building.

“Wait, Spidey,” Wade called weakly after him.

Peter spun around. “Yeah?”

“Does this mean we’re dating?” Wade asked, voice hopeful.

Peter felt a grin stretch across this face. “Yeah,” he told Wade, “this means we’re dating.”  _Holy shit_ _,_ he added mentally.  _This is a terrible idea._ Despite this, he couldn't seem to stop smiling as he swung his way back across New York, heading home. A terrible idea, certainly. But hell if he wasn't going to have fun with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I'm doing anymore. This chapter has me baffled. I can no longer predict what these characters are doing and I'm sorry.  
> Also I really just threw this together while I was half-asleep and it's awful but hopefully not out of character. If so, whoops, maybe I'll edit this later...


	13. A Chat With Aunt May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Aunt May have a revealing conversation.

It was after dinner, and Peter had gorged himself silly on Aunt May's cooking. He knew that she wasn't exactly a gourmet chef, but to him, her casserole tasted like  _home_ , and that wasn't anything he could replicate himself or find in a restaurant. A small half-smile danced across his face as he gathered up the dirty dishes, wondering if Wade would love her cooking as much as he did.  He practically dropped the dishes into the sink, a thought crossing his mind. What if Wade  _didn't_ like her cooking? Would that be a deal-breaker? He guessed if it were him, he'd just endure the food he didn't like for politeness sake, but... there was still so much about Wade he didn't know. Would he be willing to eat food he didn't really like just because Peter wanted to eat his Aunt's cooking? He stared blankly at the dishes in his hands, wondering absently when he'd gone back to the table for them. He felt a towel smack his shoulder lightly, and he looked up, confused.

“Oh,  _now_ he's paying attention,” Aunt May had an amused look in her eyes. “Penny for your thoughts,” she added with a gentle smile.

Peter felt his face flush red, embarrassed to have been caught not listening to her. “It’s nothing,” he said quickly, but Aunt May was eyeing him calculatingly.

“What’s gotten into you, Peter?” Aunt May demanded, placing her hands on her hips, a serious look on her face but a twinkle in her eyes that meant she wasn’t _really_ upset with him.

Peter wasn’t sure how to answer her. “I don’t know?” he replied, wondering what she meant.

“You’ve got a bee in your bonnet,” Aunt May said, “and you’d better tell me what it is.”

Peter blinked a few times. Sometimes he still had trouble interpreting exactly what Aunt May was trying to say. Uncle Ben used to explain her euphemisms to him, before… well. But he thought he knew what Aunt May was on about this time. “Oh, I’m just… happy, I guess,” he answered with a smile, humming as he continued to clear the table of their dirty dishes. He hadn’t been over to see her in far too long. He’d missed her dearly, and even though he knew deep down he’d always have a place to call home with her, it seemed so much more difficult to make the time to see her now that he lived in his own place. Still, he’d managed to find an evening that wasn’t swamped with homework, and if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he’d had other reasons to come visit. He lugged the plates over and deposited them into the sudsy water, grinning sheepishly in Aunt May’s direction.

“Oh _really_ now? Well, what is it that’s got you so happy?” Aunt May asked, turning back to the sink and her growing pile of dishes, eyeing him with a gleam of mischief in her gaze.

Peter shrugged sheepishly, feeling his face heat. “I, uh… I met someone,” he said finally. It wasn’t _exactly_ true, he’d met Wade a long time ago, but somehow it still felt _new,_ like he’d only met Deadpool before but now he knew _Wade_ and that was different. He covered his face, trying to hide the blush steadily crawling across his cheeks. Jeez, he was a sap.

Aunt May paused her dish-washing, wiping her yellow rubber gloves on the dishtowel and turning to face Peter. “That bad, huh?” she asked, a fond smile creasing the laugh lines around her eyes and brightening her whole face. “Do I know this mystery _someone?”_

Peter ducked his head, shaking it slowly. His face was probably red as a tomato at this point. “Probably not,” he admitted weakly. “He, uh… He’s not from around here.”

Aunt May raised an eyebrow. “I see.” She nudged him gently with her elbow. “Go grab the casserole,” she commanded, giving him an out and a few seconds to regain his composure.

Not that it would help, Peter had been in a constant state of embarrassment for _weeks_ after having “the talk” with Uncle Ben.  He couldn’t imagine how awful it would be to actually talk about… things… with Aunt May. He’d thought he was ready, but, oh god, what if she asked him how they _met_ ? He hadn’t even prepared a decent cover story, why was he such an idiot? He grabbed the leftover casserole and wrapped it, tucking it into the refrigerator. He really hadn’t been thinking about _what_ he would tell Aunt May, just that, well, he _wanted_ to tell her. But _what_ was he going to tell her?

He didn’t have nearly enough time, even with his agonizingly slow stashing of the casserole. He turned back to Aunt May, who was washing dishes, a hint of a smile on her face. Moving back across the kitchen, Peter grabbed another dishtowel and began wiping down dishes.

“So,” Aunt May said, and Peter felt himself stiffen, “What’s he like?”

“Oh, utterly obnoxious,” Peter heard himself saying, “And crass. And kind of…unconventionally smart? Like street-wise, not very educated in the traditional sense.” he winced, already sensing that he wasn’t painting Wade in a great light. He tried to do damage control by adding, “Oh, and he’s very… uh, thoughtful? And emotionally overbearing,” _shit_ _,_ that wasn’t exactly flattering either. Why the hell _was_ he dating Wade, if all he could say about him was terrible things? “He’s got the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen,” he finished weakly.

Aunt May was just looking at Peter, one eyebrow raised nearly to her hairline.  She seemed to be studying him closely, and Peter felt himself wilting under her appraising look.

Peter fumbled for more words to try and explain the enigma of Wade to his beloved Aunt. “He tells dumb jokes, and never gives up, even when things get tough,” he frowned slightly, considering his last statement. “That can be infuriating at times, though.” He felt his face flush. “But he _cares,_  deeply. You just have to look past the surface to see it.”

Aunt May set another dish into the rack and turned to face Peter. “Does he make you happy?”

Peter swallowed hard. Trust Aunt May to cut right to the heart of the issue. He nodded, slowly. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Does he make you feel safe?” Aunt May pressed, watching Peter carefully.

Peter didn’t even have to think about his answer. “Absolutely.”

Aunt May’s expression softened a little. “Does he make you feel _loved_?”

Peter thought back to how Wade had made him feel valued, respected, desired… loved? Loved. Wow. He hadn’t thought he was quite ready for the L-word, but he guessed it wasn’t that he didn’t feel that way, he just hadn’t thought to put it in those words. “I… I hadn’t really considered it like that,” Peter admitted carefully, “but I… I think so.”

Aunt May nodded succinctly. “Well then, next time you come to visit I’ll set three places instead of two.”

Peter blinked. Wait. “ _WHAT?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short but I just felt this was the best place to wrap up this chapter rather than trying to fluff up the word count by including another, unrelated scene.  
> Sorry it's been so long, I haven't had time to write in, well, months. Between Full-Time Grad School, Student Teaching, and Work (with capital letters so you know they're serious, lol), I've had basically no time to write which has been, frankly, a terrible thing because I _really do love to write._ Anyway, now that I'm only doing part-time grad school in addition to those other things, I've managed to find myself a few spare moments to get back to work on these fics.  
>  Thanks so much for your patience, I promise I haven't forgotten this story, it just takes me a long time to get a scene/chapter written up that I'm satisfied with.  
> Hopefully you'll forgive me for such a paltry chapter this time around, hoping to bring a bit more to the table in future chapters.  
> Thanks for reading!


	14. Alpha Commands and Mini-Golf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some actual _romance!_

The next few days went by swiftly. It was business as usual for Spider-Man, and he had enough occupying his attention that he didn't have much time to think about Wade until he was just _there._ Peter was perched on the edge of a building when the merc with a mouth unceremoniously plopped himself down beside Peter. Wade stared out at the city below for a long moment before turning and looking at Peter.

“You're blocking your scent,” he said, “but you just had your heat.” _So why are you blocking your scent?_ He didn't ask, but the question was heavily implied.

Peter sighed. Not looking at Deadpool, he explained. “I still smell like an omega,” he said slowly. “People… don't take well to the idea of a vigilante, period, much less an _omega_ vigilante.” He sighed, feeling his chest constrict a little as he considered, “Do you not _want_ me to hide my scent?” _You could force me to stop with an alpha command,_ he added mentally, blood running cold at the thought.

Wade gazed at him thoughtfully. “It's your life, your suit, your reputation,” he said slowly, “I don't think what I want has much to do with how you express yourself in your own damn body.” He leaned a little closer, and Peter felt a little thrill run through him at the broad sweep of Deadpool’s shoulders drawing right up to him as Wade whispered in a low, sultry tone, “But for the record, I like being the only one to _really_ know your scent.” He paused then, frowning, “I mean, besides people who know you in _real life_.”

Peter ducked his head, instinctively hiding a blush that Wade couldn't even see anyway. “Oh good,” he said weakly, “I didn't want to have a fight so soon.”

Wade tilted his head a little, eyeing Peter carefully, “Baby boy,” he began, “what the _fuck?_ ” his voice rose until it was nearly a snarl, like he was angry at Peter.

Peter whipped his head around to look at Wade, confused and upset by his reaction. “What do you mean? What did I do?” he demanded defensively.

Deadpool’s shoulders slumped, and he shook his head slowly, leaning back a little, the anger in his posture giving way to weariness. “Not you, babe - I meant to say, what _alphas_ have you encountered in your life to make you think that all of us expect omegas to - that they think omegas _should live their life_ according to the whims of their alpha?”

 _Well, Flash Thompson, for one,_ Peter thought dejectedly. The silence stretched awkwardly until Peter realized that Wade was actually waiting for an answer, that the question hadn’t been as rhetorical as he’d assumed. Well. Did he really want to go there? Taking a deep breath and steeling himself to dredge up some old wounds, Peter turned to look at Wade. “Uh… well, there was this one alpha in my high school,” he began hesitantly, “that would always tell me I wasn't ‘omega enough’ - which is obviously bullshit -” Peter began, tossing some air quotes around “omega enough” to indicate he didn't agree with the wording, just to make extra sure that Wade didn’t get pissed again, because frankly it upset Peter to see him upset. He wasn’t willing to think too hard about why that was, just yet, so it was probably better to try and… choose his phrasing carefully? It seemed a preferable alternative. “...but I was a young, impressionable teenager.”

Deadpool stiffened a little. “Wait. This the same fucker who took away your suppressants so you couldn't go to prom?”

Peter nodded weakly, “He saw me taking one in the bathroom and took the container away from me and flushed them all. He… he said I was never going to learn to be a _good omega_ if I kept denying myself.” Peter laughed weakly, but his heart wasn't in it. “My friend,” _Gwen_ , he stopped himself from adding, “thought it was some sort of bullshit mating ritual, because he was too… convinced of his desirability as an alpha to recognize that I was not interested.”

Wade was leaning back a little. “Fuck,” he said quietly, “You didn't fucking sleep with him, did you?”

 _“Hell_ no,” Peter answered, thinking back, “I was so upset I just left - walked out of the bathroom, out of school, marched the whole way home, furious.” He frowned at the memory. “I was lucky I hadn't brought my whole bottle of suppressants to school, just enough for the next few days, but he’d taken my whole week’s supply and I was already running low. Because of that, I only had one day of suppressants left - I’d intended them to be for Saturday - and I was too ashamed to tell my aunt what had happened and try to get them replaced,” he explained, before adding as an aside, “Besides, they're expensive, our insurance considers them non-essential, I guess, so even the copay costs an exorbitant amount.” He sighed.

“That's fucking bullshit,” Wade growled. “So you missed prom?”

Peter chuckled hollowly. “One of my friends who was an alpha helped me through my heat,” he couldn't help the small shudder that worked through his body at the reminder. “She went back to school each morning - so she took rut blockers through the whole thing to keep her senses, and she and her soon-to-be-girlfriend went to prom the fourth night of my heat,” Peter explained.

“Wasn't that… hard?” Wade asked softly, “to have her just _leave?”_

Peter felt his throat tighten with emotion. “I hated it,” he whispered, “I begged her to stay, even though I knew school was important, I still…” his hands tangled in his lap. “I was so alone, so… desperate,” he managed weakly. “You know what I’m like,” he added, glancing at Wade with a self-deprecating smile.

“I do,” Wade agreed, “Which is why I’m having a hard time understanding how your alpha could just _walk away_.” He said this in such a dark tone that Peter found himself instantly scrambling to explain.  

“We were both still kids, she didn't know any better, I’m sure if it were now…” he trailed off again, thinking about MJ. He’d never told her how he felt, had he? She had no idea. She probably didn't know what she’d done to him, and without him saying something, she’d likely do the same thing again, blocking her rut and going to work in the morning. The very thought of being in heat and having her walk out the door again was enough to make him shake, though with what emotion Peter couldn't be sure. “Oh god,” he said weakly, then turned to Wade. “How did you know?” he demanded then, “About how an omega _needs_ to be near their alpha for the entire ordeal? Most alphas don't seem to understand that. They think a few hours is enough.”

Wade glanced away, visibly uncomfortable. “I’ve seen omegas torn from their mates, I’ve seen heats manipulated for nefarious reasons, I’ve seen reckless and heedless abuse of alpha commands, and I don't like it. I’m sure as hell not going to perpetrate it.” He straightened up suddenly. “Oh! Shit, I almost forgot, you don't have any problems masturbating? Because of my alpha command, I mean. I wasn't sure if I made it too strong, I can take it back if you want.”

Peter could feel his cheeks heating with embarrassment. How could Wade bring up something like _masturbating_ in the middle of a serious conversation? He was about to make a snarky comment back at Wade when he suddenly realized - he _hadn't_ masturbated since his heat, and that had been… Peter mentally calculated the days. Holy shit, he hadn't even _considered_ masturbating in that amount of time? But was that because of Wade’s alpha command, or because he just hadn't been in the mood with everything else going on?

Wade was staring at Peter, his concern rolling off him in waves. “Shit,” Wade whispered, “Did it really interfere?”

Peter frowned. “I’m not sure,” he answered honestly. “How does one even take back an alpha command?”

“I mean you basically just use a second alpha command to overrule the first command,” Wade explained. “So I don't want to use it unless you're sure the command is interfering with something.” He dug into one of his pouches, withdrawing a scrap of paper and a golf pencil. Peter couldn't imagine _where_ the golf pencil could have come from, but he didn't think this was really the time to ask. Did Wade frequent Mini-golf courses?  _Actual_ golf courses? He had a fleeting vision of Wade wearing khakis and golf shoes with a floppy plaid hat, lugging a golf bag over his shoulder instead of his katanas, and the mental image made him giggle.

Wade paused, mid-writing. “What?” he asked.

“I…” Peter trailed off, trying to figure out how to explain, “I noticed the pencil, and i just… it’s a golf pencil? And then I imagined you golfing, and it was... “

“Hilarious?” Wade jumped in excitedly.

“Yeah,” Peter giggled again, “I mean, like, over your suit? But like the shoes-”

“And the golf bag?” Wade added, setting the paper and pencil aside to gesture demonstratively.

“And you’re probably trying to swing with one of your swords instead of the nine-iron or whatever the hell golfers use,” Peter added.

Wade roared with laughter. “Oh my god, we _need_ to go golfing at some point,” he decided.

“You golf?!” Peter demanded incredulously.

“I do now,” Wade told him, then turned back to the paper, scribbling two more things before handing it over. It was a phone number, and a doodle of him swinging a katana at a golf ball, with a speech bubble that read _“_ ** _FORE!_ ** _(play)”_.

Peter stared at it for a moment. “Oh my god,” he said, “I didn’t think it was possible to make golf sound alluring, but…”

“I make _everything_ sound alluring, baby boy,” Wade purred, his low, sultry tone trailing down Peter’s spine like a firm hand.

Peter bit back an amused huff, eyeing the number. “What’s this?” he asked. “Your number?”

“Yeah,” Wade said, “I promise I won’t reverse-lookup your number if you call. Just… if you need me to take back the alpha command.” He rumbled low in his throat. “Or, if you wanna have a good time…”

Peter smirked. “As tempting as that sounds, I’m already in enough trouble at work for taking a heat off without giving notice. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to start neglecting my other duties too.”

“I can help you study,” Wade wheedled, leaning in towards Peter, “I’m a great study partner.” His tone left no question as to what they would be studying - anatomy, probably with _lots_ of hands-on "studying".

Peter laughed. “It’s fine, Wade, I just need to catch up on my work.”

Wade edged away from Peter a little, his posture stiffening. “Right. Sure.” There was an undercurrent of _something_ in his tone, and Peter wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, but it wasn’t great.

“Wade,” he said slowly, “I’m not making excuses.”

Deadpool stared back at him, his normally animated mask seemingly void of emotion. “Sure,” he said in a tone that definitely was not as genial as his verbiage implied. Peter sighed, and began rolling up his mask, which prompted Wade to scramble backwards, shouting as he went. “Fucking _hell,_ Spidey! Shit! I thought we were taking this slow!”

“We _are_ ,” Peter replied exasperatedly, “But apparently me saying ‘I’m busy’ sounds like I’m not interested, so, I’m interested.” He pointed to his face, or, the half of it he’d revealed under his mask. “Unless it’s a bad skin day for you,” he added quickly.

Wade tilted his head a little. “Baby boy,” he said softly, “you don’t have to -”

“This is a two-way street,” Peter interrupted, “I don’t intend to take and not give anything back, Wade. If you need some reassurance that I’m definitely interested and into you and not trying to push you away, then I’ll give you that reassurance.” He scooted a little closer. “If that’s what you want.”

“Fuck yeah,” Wade rasped, voice low and laden with desire.

“Then at least roll up your mask, I don’t really feel like kissing spandex,” Peter smirked.

“Shit, right, yeah!” Wade rolled up his mask, then set his hands back down at his sides, awkwardly staring at Peter.

With a sigh, Peter crawled over to him, settling one knee between Wade’s legs and laying a hand on his chest. It was warm and firm beneath his hand, even through his glove and Wade’s suit, Peter could feel the muscle beneath tremble slightly. He grinned, lifting his knee and slipping into Wade’s lap, straddling the larger man and wrapping his other hand around Wade’s neck. He leaned in slowly, his lips a hair’s breadth away from Wade’s when he whispered, “I really do want you, you know,” before leaning in and meeting Wade’s wide, scarred lips with his own.

When their lips met, Wade made a soft noise, somewhere between surprise and pleasure. He leaned into Peter, his arms wrapping around Peter, clutching at his back. His broad hands roamed up and down Peter’s body, and he sighed in contentment, leaning into the kiss, allowing himself to be swept away by the sensation.

It was different, like this. Peter had feared that it would be different from his heat in a bad way - that without his heat to drive his libido, he wouldn’t be very interested. He’d always been perfectly fine alone, and he was never one for, well, anything like this, really. Technically, he’d been right to assume that kissing Wade while not in heat would be different - it was _better_. He didn’t have the aching, screaming _need_ racing through him, so he was able to focus on the warm bloom of excitement in his chest, enjoy the feel of Wade’s muscles shifting beneath him. He rolled his hips a little, enjoying the way Wade gasped against his lips as he tipped his head back ever-so-slightly. Peter was awash with sensation, so familiar and yet so different, like he could appreciate on a coherent level what he must have enjoyed in heat.

Wade broke their kiss off a moment later, gasping out, “Hold on, Spidey, if we go much longer it’s going to be _real_ fucking hard for me to take it slow.”

Peter nodded, shifting off of Wade’s lap and pointedly ignoring the way both of their suits were… a bit fuller, perhaps, in the nether regions. “Thanks,” he said, “That was… amazing.”

“Fuck,” Wade agreed breathlessly. Then, “So anyway. Call me. Anytime.”

Peter chuckled. “Even if it’s just for a game of mini-golf?”

 _“Hell_ yes, I fucking _love_ mini golf!” Wade exclaimed. “Definitely call me for that.”

Peter nodded, tucking the note into his sleeve for safekeeping, rolling his mask down. “I should probably get back to patrol now.”

“Go do your hero thing, you sexy arachnid-man,” Wade replied, flashing Peter a thumbs-up, rolling his mask back down.

Peter felt a wave of fondness wash over him, so much so that he felt almost blindsided by it. They hadn’t even been on a real date yet, and he couldn’t remember _ever_ feeling this way about someone before. With a jaunty wave he leapt from the building, spinning a web as he went, his mind still half-preoccupied with the enigma that was his current emotional state.

(He really, _really_ wanted that mini-golf date with Wade.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liiiiiive!  
> I don't know where this chapter came from to be honest, I was really intending it to go in a different direction but then suddenly Peter was like spilling his guts out and then Wade was having _feelings_ and honestly I don't know what to do with these two they're so ridiculous.  
>  But anyway.  
> CUTE FLUFF CHAPTER  
> Thanks for reading!  
> (PS. It's pretty telling when a chapter with serious discussions about past high school trauma is considered the "fluff chapter" ... apparently I don't know how to _not_ angst...  >.>)


	15. It's Only Awkward If You Make It Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter really tries to have some alone time, but apparently his body has other ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry

The next night, Peter found a few minutes of spare time to relax. After all, it wasn't like anyone was checking up on him to make sure he spent a full three hours on patrol, and… well, he had other, more pressing matters to resolve. Namely, the question of whether or not Wade’s alpha command was interfering with his -erm- _alone time._ Peter rolled the bottle of lube around in his hands, warming it. He’d shed his costume upon his return and hadn't bothered to put on anything else. 

He settled back on his bed, staring at the bottle of lube as he rolled it between his palms, back and forth. He couldn't even remember Wade’s supposedly prohibitive command, the whole heat had been one big blur to him. Glancing anxiously at the bedside table, Peter eyed with suspicion the little doodle with Wade’s phone number. He almost felt like it was staring at him, like Wade was somehow watching him through the eyes of the doodle. 

Peter’s face heated, and he immediately felt ridiculous - it was just a _drawing._ From a _golf pencil._ Tucking the lube into one hand, Peter stretched across his bed, snagging the paper with the tips of his fingers and turning it over, just because. He didn't need a reason. He’d already memorized the number, but he didn't dare put it in his phone, just because he wasn't quite convinced that Jarvis respected boundaries and the last thing he needed was to be explaining to Stark that he _totally_ had a good reason to justify possessing the number of a killer-for-hire.

God, his life was so weird. 

With a sigh, Peter uncapped the lube, fumbling it a little as he squeezed it into his hand. He reached down, and… stopped. He couldn't, something didn't feel right. He glanced anxiously around the room, but it was still the same old ratty apartment: a mattress masquerading as a bed, an upside-down crate cleverly repurposed into a bedside table, a shower that never quite got hot…

He tried again, but his brain seemed to be _screaming_ at him, kicking his body into fight-or-flight mode, his breath coming in gasps, eyes wide as he cast his gaze frantically about the room, looking for… what? For whom? Peter didn't know, but the lube was warm and oozing on his palm but he _still couldn't_ bring himself to do anything. He couldn't relax, he needed - he couldn't -

A draft, not much, just enough to piss him off in the cold winter months, drifted in from the wall beneath the poorly sealed window, and the note from Deadpool fluttered a little bit, and just like that, Peter _knew._ He fumbled for his phone with the hand that wasn't lubed up, stabbing out Wade’s number. The Merc picked up on the second ring.

_“Papa John’s Pizza, this is Papa John, but you can call me **Daddy Pool** ,” _his voice rumbled a bit at the end and Peter felt his gut clench a little. 

Momentarily derailed, he found himself absently wondering if he’d been harboring a latent daddy kink his whole life up to this point and had merely remained blissfully unaware of it until this precise moment, or if he should be blaming it on Wade and his too-sexy rumble of a baritone. But he had more pressing issues to discuss, so the whole _daddy_ thing could wait for another day. “Wade?” Peter began, wincing at how thready and shaky and _anxious_ his voice sounded.

_“Shit! Spidey! What’s wrong? Where are you? Do I need to bring Bea and Arthur?”_

Oh God. “No, I- I-” and now he was _stuttering_ like a damn teenager. What was next? Acne? Flash Thompson shoving him into a locker? He took a deep breath. “I think I’m having a… stress attack? Like, panic attack-adjacent but not quite,” Peter tried to explain, opening his mouth to tell him why, but… Oh god. How the hell was he supposed to tell Wade that he couldn't touch himself with the intent to jerk off but if he was _washing_ in the shower there was no issue? It didn't make sense, maybe it was all in his head, maybe - 

_“Babe! Spidey! Are you there? Do I need to come over? Fuck!”_ something crashed ominously in the background. _“Shit, well, toes grow back fast anyway, uh. Spidey? Babe?”_

Peter swallowed hard. “I’m here,” he said, amazed that somehow, Wade’s fumbling seemed to be helping. “Uh, remember the thing you were worried about?”

Wade didn't answer for a long moment. _“You wanna try being more specific, there, Spidey? I’m pretty fucking paranoid and not sure if we’re talking the ‘all government leaders are giant sentient bugs wearing meat suits’ or the ‘yes, you did leave the oven on and now your kitchen is on fire’ kinds of things I find myself worrying about.”_

Oh god. Peter took a deep breath. “It’saboutthealphacommand,” he spat out.

Wade was silent on the other end, but Peter could practically hear the gears grinding as Wade tried to decipher his word vomit. _“Uh… run that one by me again?”_

Peter cringed a little. “The, uh… a-alpha command,” he said weakly. 

_“Fucking hell,”_ Wade hissed, _“I fucking knew that shit would come back and bite me in the ass, damn it! Fuck, Spidey, I didn't think it was going to be that strong or I wouldn't have - wait.”_

Peter duly waited, but Wade appeared to be taking his time collecting his thoughts. 

_“You were having a stress attack?”_ Wade asked quietly. 

Peter nodded before realizing Wade couldn't see him. “Yeah,” he said weakly. “I feel better now, though, since I’m talking to you.”

For some reason, Wade didn't se to consider this a compliment, groaning into his end of the line. _“Fuuuck, Spidey, I’m sorry for this,”_ he said, sounding so sincere that Peter almost wondered if this man could be an impostor. _“I think I gotta undo the command, it’s just - I don't know that I can do it over the phone, especially if it’s giving you fucking anxiety.”_

Anxiety wasn’t quite the word Peter was thinking of, more like… distinct unease and a general sense of _something is missing I need it._ But anxiety seemed like a much more concise way of putting it, so he didn't bother correcting him. 

“It feels like…” Peter struggled to explain, “Like something’s wrong, like I need something first, like-”

_“Fuck,”_ Wade interrupted, _“Yeah, that's my fault,”_ he admitted in a crestfallen tone. _“I believe the command was along the lines of ‘don't touch yourself while I’m gone,’ so if I’m not there, I guess…”_ he paused then. _“Huh,”_ he said, sounding thoughtful.

Peter had no idea what Wade might be thinking of, but he certainly wasn't expecting the next thing Wade said to him.

_“You ever tried phone sex?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drops pathetically short chapter and runs*  
> I've been so stuck with this fic, but I think I'm finally starting to hit my stride again with writing so hopefully I'll have another chapter for you soon, as soon as I figure out how to write dirty talk (oh boy).  
> *sweats*  
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	16. A Phone in Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is only slightly more awkward than Wade. Things turn out okay anyway.

On the other end of the line, Peter was quiet for so long that Wade began to wonder if he’d pushed too far past their agreement to “take it slow”.

 ** _Yeah, plus you're well known for your tactless diarrhea of the mouth, anyone would be nervous about phone sex with you,_ ** White pointed out, a sort of sneering quality to the words.

Peter made a little noise on his end. _“Uh, no?”_ It came out in an adorable little squeak, and Wade felt his heart flutter.

“So here’s the deal,” Wade explained quickly, “You can't do the nasty unless I’m there, but maybe I don't need to _physically_ be there.”

Peter hummed thoughtfully into the phone. _“Let’s give it a shot, then, I guess.”_  He sounded unsure.

Well, of course he was nervous, apparently he was a phone sex virgin. Wade tried not to think too deeply on that, but… damn! What had he done to deserve Spidey’s first phone sex?

 **There’s also the fact that last time he tried to touch himself it triggered a panic attack,** Yellow pointed out smugly. **So maybe he’s just hesitating because he doesn’t want to freak out again… which would be even more your fault since you’re the one pushing him into this.**

Ignoring the box pointedly, Wade focused on Spidey. “Where are you right now?”

 _“Um… on my bed?”_ Spidey sounded both unsure and confused.

“Great, me too,” Wade lied, kicking back on his couch and glancing at the muted television for a few seconds before grabbing a remote and flicking it off. He didn’t need any distractions at the moment. “Under the covers or on top?”

 _“Well, I was trying to…”_ Spidey coughed awkwardly, _“you know. So I’m on top, with a towel under me? Because - yeah.”_ He trailed off weakly, and _gah!_ Wade could just eat him up, what a cutie! _“I still have lube in my hand because I can’t… touch it.”_

“Aw, now that’s just sad,” Wade cooed, “I bet poor li’l Spidey could use some attention.”

Spidey barked a sharp laugh, then said, _“Oh my God, you are_ **_not_ ** _allowed to name my dick, Wade. Especially not if you’re calling it ‘little Spidey’.”_

Wade pouted a little, huffing into the phone so Spidey would be sure to hear his disappointment. “Fine,” he acquiesced, “I’ll keep trying ‘til I find one you like.”

 _“That’s not what I said,”_ the webbed wonder shot back, _“But I know you won’t stop, mostly because you can’t help but make dumb jokes, so I’ll just wish you luck on your naming quest and roll my eyes every time you come up with a new ridiculous moniker.”_

Wade nodded, “Sounds fair.”

 **_Sounds boring, I thought this was supposed to be phone sex, but all you’re doing is talking like a couple of dumb teenagers at youth camp,_ ** White complained.

“So you’re in bed,” Wade quickly returned to the focus of the call, “And you’re wearing…?”

 _“Nothing,”_ came the sheepish reply.

“Holy shit,” Wade breathed, and from the other end of the line, Spidey moaned a little. Which just made Wade swear again, “Fuck, Spidey, you gotta warn a guy before you make those kinds of sounds,” he groaned.

 _“Then maybe next time you should try not sounding like sex on a stick,”_ the young hero shot back. _“Your voice_ **_does things_ ** _to me.”_

Fuck if Spidey’s voice didn’t _do things_ to Wade, too. “Noted,” Wade rumbled, pleased to hear Spidey’s quiet _gasp_ on the other end of the line. “Now, babe, I want you to touch yourself,” he thrummed, putting just a _hint_ of Alpha into his tone, hoping it would be enough to overrule the previous command, since his _voice_ was in the room with the younger man.

 _“Oh, wow, okay, that worked,”_ Spidey gasped into the phone a moment later. _“Um, now what?”_

“Talk to me,” Wade replied, “how’s it feel?”

 _“Uh…”_ Spidey squeaked. _“Feels like… masturbating?”_

Wade couldn’t catch himself in time to suppress the guffaw that escaped. “Yeah, I guess it would,” he chuckled. “Keep going,” he said, trying to put as much sex appeal into his voice as he could muster. Considering his looks, it was about he sexiest thing about him, anyway, so he figured that phone sex would probably be more enjoyable for Spidey than anything else - unless the spider-themed hero was into blindfolding, in which case that might be an option, too.

 **Blindfolds don’t hide the fact that your skin feels like dry playdough and hardened chewing gum on the underside of a sewer tunnel on a humid day,** Yellow commented.

Noted, and duly ignored, Wade tried to focus on Spidey. “That’s right,” he crooned, hearing Spidey’s breath hitch as he kept going, “be a good boy for daddy pool.” Spidey groaned at the last bit, which had Wade’s mind suddenly racing. No. Spidey didn’t have a thing for… or _did_ he? That would be something fun to explore, though probably later and not when trying to make reparations for his stupid Alpha command. Wade continued to murmur soft encouragements into the phone, lazily reaching down and pulling his own considerable girth from his spider-man boxers, stroking himself gently as he listened to Spidey come undone on the other end of the line. “You’re so good, babe,” he groaned as he took himself just a bit more roughly.

Spidey yelped a little, _“Wade, what the hell?”_ he demanded, _“You can’t talk like that, I’m gonna-”_

“Good,” Wade interrupted, “I want you to come for me,” he added in a low rumble, and if the sharp cry, followed by a shuddering sigh on the other end was any indication, Spidey had done just that.

 _“Holy shit,”_ Spidey whispered, almost reverently, _“I can’t believe we didn’t try this sooner.”_

Wade smirked a little, imagining Spidey’s lithe body, sprawled out across his bed, exhausted and sated. The mental image was almost enough to bring him to completion right then, but he slowed his strokes, not wanting to make the other uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure if Spidey would feel comfortable knowing how close to the edge just hearing his voice had brought Wade, too. “We did want to take this slow,” Wade reminded him.

 _“Right,”_ Spidey chuckled, his voice saturated with a deep-seated _relief_ that hadn’t been there mere minutes earlier. _“What were we thinking?”_

Wade chuckled back, not sure he knew how to respond to that. Was Spidey trying to say he _wanted_ things to go faster? Or was he just basking in the afterglow and talking shit? Either way, Wade was 100% along for the ride.

 ** _Or maybe he’s wondering what he was thinking even getting involved with you in the first place,_** White hissed.

Wade did his best to ignore the box, instead focusing on the sound of Spidey’s calm breaths on the other end of the line. “So… safe to assume we’re good to do this again sometime?” he asked teasingly.

 _“Definitely,”_ Spider-Man agreed, _“But next time, I’m getting_ **_you_ ** _to come first.”_

Wade threw his head back and laughed. It wouldn’t be as hard as Spidey probably assumed, considering li’l Wade was _still_ standing at attention. “I look forward to it,” he grunted. “You should get some sleep now.”

 _“I think that won’t be too difficult, now,”_ Spidey commented, his voice positively _glowing._

“Good,” Wade said, adding in the huskiest tone he could muster. “Sweet dreams.”

The whimper Spidey produced in response to that was enough to reverberate sweetly in his mind as they hung up, bringing him to completion not long after their whispered “goodnight”s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this was the hardest chapter I've ever had to write and frankly I don't like it, but I think for the good of us all it's time I just continue with the story. I've never written phone sex before and I've only ever read one or two stories with it, and to be honest I just don't have the familiarity with it to make it _good,_ so this is about my limit, I think. I might try and practice this more in another fic, but for the moment this is my best effort, so sorry it's really.... bland.  
>  Anyway. Let the story continue, and let's pretend this was a lot better than it actually was...


End file.
